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Chapter Text

Still. The three bodies on the television screen stared back at him, their limbs stiff inside suit jackets, their eyes fixed on a single point – the glass camera lens. They weren’t really staring into the Erikson’s living room, at Simon, sat with his knees pulled up to his chest, tucked into the corner of the sofa, holding a mug of hot chocolate against the leg of his new flannel pyjamas. All of it was fake. They were stared at a cold, hard, pane of glass that curved into the black void of the camera. It pulled all life and humanity from them and gave nothing back. And so they sat, still and lifeless, as if they were figures in the floor to ceiling painting that hung in the ornate gold frame behind them. They were not people. They were relics of the State.

The Queen spoke. “Merry Christmas Eve. On this night, around the world, Christians celebrate the coming of Christ. This night, in the heart of our cold, dark Swedish winters, brings light and hope to herald us forth into the New Year.”

The Queen was flanked by her husband and son. Simon watched the son, Wilhelm, and the way his eyes slowly drifted down from the camera lens to the floor. His head and shoulders followed. No one corrected it. The Queen did not shuffle her posture to prompt Wilhelm to adjust his. Wilhelm’s eyes did not flick up at some signal from the team behind the camera. It was subtle enough that maybe no one noticed. Simon noticed.

He brought his hot chocolate to his lips but lowered it again. He clasped the warm mug to his chest.

“Our family has dearly needed this season’s light and hope. It’s been two months since Crown Prince Erik died and we feel his loss everyday.”

Wilhelm looked back up when the Queen mentioned Erik. He turned his head slightly towards his parents. His finger slipped up his wrist and rested against the silver watch. Erik’s watch.

Wilhelm had come back to school after the funeral wearing it. It didn’t suit him. It was too big and clunky on his arm. But Simon would never tell Wilhelm this.

“I have been able to speak to many of you who have expressed condolences for my family and love for my son and that has eased this burden. I have spoken to other parents grieving the loss of their own child. I have been moved by the strength they have shown. I strive to emulate this resilience. Christmas is a time for family and tradition, and we have found some of our traditions difficult to enjoy now that Erik is no longer with us. I believe that overtime these traditions will bring us joy again and help us to keep Erik’s memory in our hearts. And I believe forging new traditions will help our family move forward with all of you into the new year. So I hope you take time this holiday season, no matter which holiday you are celebrate, to spend time with your loved ones. That time is precious.”

The Queen turned to Wilhelm. She smiled the way she had smiled at Simon when they had first met – polite. Her eyes flicked up, just over Wilhelm’s head. When they returned to Wilhelm, her smile had faltered. She reached for his hand and patted the silver watch on his wrist. She turned back to black void of the camera. Wilhelm’s eyes fell back to the floor. The feed cut back to a news anchor.

The television switched off. Simon stared at the black screen. A ghostly glow hovered in the place Wilhelm had sat. Tears pooled in Simon’s eyes.

“Mi amor, your chocolate is getting cold.” Linda placed the television remote on the coffee table. She reached for Simon and brushed her fingers through his curls.

“He looked sad.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “They all did. The have a year ahead of them of firsts without Erik. I cannot imagine.”

Simon shook his head. He could not imagine either.

She patted his knee. “Come, time for games.”

Simon followed his mother to the table. Sara had set up the Monopoly board and handed out the money. Sara was the horse. His mom was the racecar. Simon was the dog. Simon was the first to get a full property set. He invested all his money in hotels and then quickly proceeded to lose everything over the next six turns with a series of bad rolls. Sara delt the final blow and bankrupted him with four houses on Pennsylvania avenue.

Simon slipped from the table and Sara’s smug look down the hall to his room. His hand shook as it hovered over Wilhelm’s name in the contacts of his phone. He pressed it and brought the phone to his ear.

Wilhelm answered on the second ring. “Simon?”

“Hi,” Simon said. He paused then. The line was quiet. Wilhelm did not speak or breathe. The palace did not echo around him. Simon suddenly regretted calling. He stuttered. “I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

Wilhelm huffed a small laugh. “No. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

Simon hung his head. He didn’t expect to reach out. “How are you? The Christmas Address looked rough.”

“Don’t tell my mother.”

“Wille.”

“Yeah?”

“How are you?”

“I’m counting the days until I can go back to school. I’m laying on Erik’s bed. They haven’t touched his room yet. It still looks the same. Like he could walk in the door any minute.”

“Is that weird?”

“I don’t know. It would be weird if his room was just empty like he never existed.”

“I’m surprised. Your mother seems so cold.”

“Not with Erik.”

“I’m sorry.”

Wilhelm was quiet again for a moment. “How are you? What did you get for Christmas?”

Simon smiled and sat down on his bed. “New pyjamas. A small electric keyboard so I can practise reading sheet music.” The keyboard sat next to him. He pressed a few keys – the keys Wilhelm had showed him. There was no sound. It wasn’t turned on. But Simon could hear the notes in his head. He could feel Wilhelm’s fingers against his.

“Nice.”

“Sara got new riding britches. I think she made out the best. What did you get? A private jet? A private yacht? A private island?”

“I was lucky not to get a lump of coal. I got like three new suits and some other clothes for royal functions. Rowing gloves so I don’t have blistered hands for royal functions.”

“I’m sensing a pattern.”

“Yeah. My grandparents gave me cash so I can get something I want. And we’re going to Switzerland to ski so I guess that’s alright.”

“Yeah that’s pretty alright, Wille. The guys are going to make fun of you for wearing gloves.”

“Yeah.” Wilhelm’s tone indicated that he was already resigned to this fact. “Are you going to make fun of me for wearing gloves?”

“Yes. Gloves are for sissies.”

Wilhelm laughed.

Simon smiled at the light and surprised sound. It faded quickly, only a quick glimpse of relief. Simon’s smile fell into the silence. “I don’t know if I’m going stay on the team. I can’t be around August.”

Wilhelm breathed out heavily. “It’s so unfair. He can’t win.”

“Wille,” Simon said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

“I just mean that what happened was awful but it wasn’t our fault. No sixteen-year-old should be expected to navigate the aftermath that. And you had adults who supposedly had your best interest in mind steering you. I get it. I’m not mad. I still stand by what I said but I just needed you to know that.”

Wilhelm didn’t say anything.

“Are your parents settling with it all? Have they separated the video from the gay thing yet?”

“I don’t know. I’m not really talking to them. After the August thing, I don’t trust them. They weren’t going to tell me. They were going to let me continue being his friend or whatever. They were happy to make me the fool. It makes my skin crawl.” Wilhelm took a shaky breath. Simon imagined the tremble in his jaw. He imagined Wilhelm’s hand pressed tight to his shirt, rubbing at his chest. Simon clenched his grip on his phone. “I will fix this.”

“Wille, it’s okay. Take a breath. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Don’t worry about me right now. We’re good.”

Wilhelm sniffed. “We’re good.”

“Have fun skiing. I’ll see you at school.”

“Ten days.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Simon.”

Simon held his phone and stared at Wilhelm’s name for a moment before pocketing it. He felt for Wilhelm. He felt a lot for him. He felt betrayal. He felt hurt. He felt frustration. He felt grief. He felt sorry. He felt love.

Simon walked back down the hall to the living area. The lights on the Christmas tree lit the room in a warm glow and the laughter from his mother and sister echoed off the walls. Before rejoining them and taking over banker duties, Simon looked back down the hall to his dark and quiet bedroom.

Wilhelm fell back onto Erik’s bed and dropped his phone on his chest. He rested his hand over it and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to hang up. He wanted to sit with Simon all night, all break even. They didn’t need to speak. Wilhelm just wanted to know he was there. He felt further and further each day. Simon had said he would be there when Wilhelm was ready but was that a reasonable expectation? Was that fair? Nothing about their relationship had been fair. He couldn’t make Simon wait forever. It had only been two weeks. That was already too long. His fingers itched. The tendons were tight and flexed around his phone. He was going to fix this. He had to.

He shook out his hands and splayed them out across the bed. The comforter was soft and familiar against his skin. Erik had had the same bedding for as long as Wilhelm could remember – navy blue with white pin stripes. It looked smart and nautical. Erik liked being on the water.

Wilhelm opened his eyes. The dark of Erik’s bedroom rivaled the black of his eyelids. The white glow of midnight snow peaked around the curtains. The light illuminated the gallery of framed photographs on Erik’s wall. There was one of the two of them, from several years ago, when Wilhelm was nine. It was taken when they were visiting Balmoral in Scotland and by tradition, were decked out in tartan kilts. They looked ridiculous. Below that was a picture of Erik and August, standing, arms over each other’s shoulders in front of one of the boats. August had no doubt insisted upon and staged the photograph. But Erik had kept a copy and framed it and hung it on his wall.

Erik always found a way to excuse August. The video was different though. Erik would have told Wilhelm it was August who leaked it. Erik would have driven up to the school and confronted August. He would have yelled. He would have grabbed August’s phone from his hand and smashed it on the ground. He would have threatened to do the same to August’s face.

Right?

The longer Wilhelm stared at the photo, the more unsure he became. He brought his hands up to rub his eyes. Erik’s watch was heavy on his wrist. Erik’s room suddenly felt foreign and hostile, the shadows were too dark and too large and too willing to conceal monsters.

Wilhelm stood from the bed and left. The slam of the heavy wood door against the fame made his shoulders jump. The sound echoed down the endless and empty hallway. Wilhelm followed it, past the other closed doors and paintings of centuries dead relatives he did not know the names of.

He went to the stable. The lights were dim and the steady hum of deep breathing filled the old, wooden structure. The stable housed a dozen horses, mostly belonging to the Palace Guard for ceremonial purposes. The first stall on the left was Beau’s. He was Wilhelm’s.

Beau popped his head over the half door as Wilhelm’s creaking steps approached his stall. He neighed softly and rutted his head playfully against Wilhelm’s shoulder.

Wilhelm smiled and pulled his hands from the front pocket of his hoodie to pat Beau’s neck. “Hi Bozo. I didn’t think you’d be up. Did you have a good Christmas? Did they give you extra treats? I’ll bring you some Christmas cake tomorrow. It’s sticky and sweet, your favourite.” Wilhelm stepped back and laid his palm against the dark grey patch of Beau’s muzzle. It was velvet soft and warmed his hand from the midnight, winter air. Beau had spackled grey socks and hindquarters, but the rest of his coat was white. Beau leaned into his hand for a moment before he dropped his head, wanting his forelock scratched. Wilhelm obliged. “Want to go for a ride?”

It was the middle of the night. It was minus five degrees. He was wearing sweatpants and sneakers. But that’s exactly what Wilhelm wanted to do - he wanted to go for a ride.

Wilhelm grabbed a brush from the groom kit that hung on the stall door and pushed the wooden door open. The door rattled on the rollers and the sound was followed by a chorus of neighs from throughout the stable. Wilhelm looked at Beau and winced. Beau let out his own neigh and Wilhelm brought a finger to his lips to shush him.

Wilhelm brushed Beau down and tacked him up. He put the bigger, thicker blanket on under the saddle to keep him warm. He held the left stirrup along his arm. It was half an inch short of reaching his armpit. He’d grown since the last time he’d taken Beau out. He moved the buckle down a hole to lengthen the strap and then let down the right stirrup as well. He led Beau outside to the mounting block. Beau huffed a smoky breath and hooved at the snowy ground. “I won’t keep you out long, promise.”

They walked along the edge of the palace grounds. Beau’s pace was brisk. There was a bounce to it. Snow fell around them, cocooning them away from the rest of the grounds and the palace and the world. Sound was dampened. Structures were obscured. Wilhelm dropped the reigns. He clicked his tongue and Beau kept walking. Wilhelm stretched his arms out wide and turned his face up to the sky. Fluffy white flakes appeared out of the black expanse, endless and bright and playful and warm. Midnight snow was as magical as the summer’s midnight sun.
Beau shook out the white snow from his white mane. Wilhelm smiled and shook out the snow from his own floppy hair.

He missed riding. Erik had never taken to it and so slowly Wilhelm had given it up as well. It hurt to admit that it was that simple but it was. It wasn’t fair to his horse. It wasn’t fair to himself.

“Want to share?” The question was posed in English.

Wilhelm turned his head, an exaggerated movement to see beyond his goggles and helmet. A snowboarder had hobbled up beside him in the chairlift line. Wilhelm nodded and replied in English “Yeah. Sure.”

“How’s your day going?” The snowboarder asked once they were seated. He spoke in that brazen way English speakers do that assumes everyone else also speaks English.

Wilhelm’s thighs burned. He’d been on the mountain for four hours, run after run, non-stop. The annual ski trip to Switzerland had always been his favourite part of the Christmas holiday. This year, he felt empty. The mountain was too quiet. But that was not a chairlift small talk answer. “Good,” Wilhelm said. The sky was clear and blue. The sun was warm on his cheeks. He knocked the fresh powder from his skis. “Conditions are perfect.”

“Oh man, the last few days have been snowy and windy. No visibility. Good for the powder but a bit miserable. But this is what you wait for. It’s supposed to be like this for the next few days.”

“I lucked out then.”

“Absolutely. Where are you from?”

“Sweden,” Wilhelm said. He lifted his goggles up onto his helmet.

“Cool. I haven’t made it to Sweden yet but it’s on my list.”

“Where are you from?”

“Australia.”

“Of course,” Wilhelm smiled. “I have never managed to go skiing without bumping into an Australian. You’re an invasive species.”

The snowboarder laughed. “Sounds about right.” He lifted his own goggles. “We get around.” He was good looking, golden skin, golden eyes, a bright, friendly smile. His lips were chapped from the cold weather but not is a displeasing way. He raised an eyebrow.

Wilhelm had been staring. He averted his eyes, down at a passing skier. “Are you travelling with friends?”

“No. No, I’m working here for the season. It’s my day off. What about you? You travelling with friends?”

The snowboarder was just being friendly. He was just making conversation. He wasn’t flirting. He was probably straight. He was an adult with a job, at least eighteen, probably twenty. Wilhelm knew this. He knew this wasn’t a thing. The conversation captured his attention though – his own anonymity. This snowboarder from Australia had no idea who he was.

Erik had always sensed and embraced that anonymity on their ski trips. In a foreign country, hidden behind a helmet and goggles, he was no longer the Crown Prince. He relaxed his shoulders. He laughed. He slipped Wilhelm beer on the patio of the mountain top chalet. He sought fresh powder in areas marked as out of bounds. He had loved skiing the runs under lift eight because to the left of the chairlift, the mountain dipped out of bounds into a valley and then rose to a high ridge. From the top of lift eight a brave few skiers and boarders would climb the next peak, carrying their skis and boards in hand and using them to carve stairs into the snow. At the top, they would hike across to the ridge. Erik and Wilhelm would watch their progress as they rode the chairlift throughout the day, small black dots, only discernible from the sparse trees by their movement. And then, when the skiers and boarders had trekked halfway along the ridge, to the untouched and unblemished snow, they leapt from the cliff side. Their fall was slow and silent. Their impact kicked up a geyser of snow that trailed after them as they glided down into the tree line. Lower down, near the base of the lift, they would pop up again, under the red boundary rope and rejoin the marked run. Erik always said that one year, when Wilhelm was older, they would do it together, climb the second peak, traverse the southern ridge, and fly.

Under that cloak of anonymity, he could be free.

Wilhelm shook his head. “No. I’m here with my family.”

“Well have a good day, man,” the snowboarder said. He pulled his goggles back down over his eyes. They were near the top of the lift.

“You too.”

Wilhelm turned left off the lift. The snowboarder turned right and promptly flopped down on his ass near a group of other boarders to strap his boot back into his board. Wilhelm pulled his goggles back on and started down the slope, alone, once more.

It was late when they arrived back from Switzerland. Wilhelm didn’t want to be home but home meant school started in three days and school meant Simon. The next morning, he dug his riding pants out of the bottom drawer of his dresser. He tugged them on and sucked in his stomach to force the button closed. The cuffs stopped a half inch above his ankles. He needed new gear. He swapped the riding pants for a pair of jeans and went to the kitchen for breakfast.

His parents sat next to each other at the kitchen table, his father reading the newspaper, his mother reading government documents. His father looked up when Wilhelm entered. “Good morning,” he smiled. “There’s tea.” His mother kept her head down.

“Thanks,” Wilhelm said. He poured himself a mug and sat down.

“Did you enjoy skiing?” his father asked.

Wilhelm nodded. It was an automatic response.

“What are your plans for the day?”

He didn’t want to tell his parents. They would find a way to ruin it. He couldn’t sneak a horse out of the palace without them knowing though. Wilhelm took a sip of his tea. “I need new riding gear.”

“You do?”

“I want to take Beau back to school with me.”

His mother looked up then. “I thought you were on the rowing team.”

“I am. I can do both.”

“That’s a big time commitment. You need time for your schoolwork.”

“I know.”

His mother looked at him. Wilhelm looked down. “Maybe this will be good for you,” she said turning back to the document in her hand. “Keep you busy and away from distractions.”

There it was. Wilhelm furrowed his brows. His chest tightened. With one sentence she managed to twist the situation away from him. She always found a way to win. “Yeah,” he mumbled around his fingernail and slid down and his seat.

“Malin is back from her time off. She can go with you to the store,” his father said. “I’ll make the arrangements with the school.”

Wilhelm nodded. “Thanks.” He stood from the table.

“Wilhelm.” His mother called after him. “Stop chewing your nails.”

He dropped his hand. He flexed his fingers as he walked through the long hallways towards the staff offices. Palace staffers carrying linens and clipboards stepped out of his path as he approached. They tucked themselves into doorways and bowed their heads. A young woman carrying a stack of papers rushed around the corner in front of him. She jumped back to let him pass and stumbled over her feet. She dropped the papers to catch herself on the wall.

“Are you alright?” Wilhelm asked.

She bowed her head. “I’m so sorry, Your Royal Highness. I wasn’t paying attention.” She knelt to gather the papers.

“No worries.” He knelt to help her.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, sir.”

“It’s no trouble.” He picked up half of the strewn papers and handed them back to the young woman. “There. All sorted.”

“Thank-you, sir.” Her cheeks were pink.

Wilhelm pushed back his hair and smiled. He gestured for her to pass and then carried on to Malin’s office.

Malin set down her coffee and stood when he stepped in the open doorway. “Good morning, Your Royal Highness.”

“Good morning. How was your time off?”

“Fine.” She nodded back down the hall. “What was all that about?”

“Nothing. I need to go to the equestrian shop. I’m taking Beau back to school with me.”

“Very good, sir.”

Wilhelm nodded and turned to leave.

“Can I ask a favour, sir?”

Wilhelm stepped back into the office and raised an eyebrow.

“Since you’re going to force me to stand around a cold stable that smells like horse for six months, could you do something for me?”

“I mean, I can get you a chair.”

She smiled at his joke. “You’re very kind, sir, but no. I was going to ask that you stop sneaking off on me?”

“Oh.” Wilhelm turned around. The hallway outside the door was quiet and empty.

“I was young once, believe it or not. I know what kids get up to. You won’t shock me. And I’m not here to tattle on you, what you’re doing, who your spending time with. I don’t care if you’re not doing schoolwork, if you’re leaving campus after hours, if you’re drinking. I’m not here to police you. I’m here to keep you alive.”

“It was only once.” It had been August’s doing and August would no longer be an issue in that regard.

“Let’s keep it at only once.”

“If you’re not standing outside my room though, the school staff will know I’ve snuck out.”

“You have two guards. It’s presumable that one of us is off duty. Who’s to say how I spend my off time? Sleeping? Traipsing across Bjarstad? Watching home decorating shows with Linda in the Erikson’s living room.” Malin’s hair was pulled back in a sleek, tight bun. She wore black pants and a black suit jacket. Serious. Professional. There was a sparkle in her eye though. She was on his side.

“Clever,” Wilhelm smiled. He reached out his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”

“Deal.”

Wilhelm awoke early on Monday. He had packed his school bags the night before. His mother was sitting at the kitchen table reading government documents when he went down for breakfast. Again. He did not speak. He did not want to disturb her. He put two pieces of bread in the toaster.

“Darling, could you pour me a refill while you’re up.”

Wilhelm grabbed the coffee pot and brought it to the table. The toaster popped as he was pouring. He jumped at the sound.

“Don’t make a mess.”

“I didn’t.”

“Good.” She spoke again once he was seated with breakfast. “You’re up early. Excited to go back to school. You threw quite the tantrum when we transferred you there. It would seem that we know what is best for you even if you don’t see it. At the time we initially sent you there, Hillerska was simply far away from the hoodlums you had taken to surrounding yourself with and a family tradition. Now, it’s more important. It ties you to Erik’s legacy. This will help the people accept you as the new Crown Prince. We are allowing you to continue there because of this. Make no mistake though, we will pull you from Hillerska if there are any further scandals.”

Wilhelm did not respond. He bumped the table as he stood. His mother’s coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug. He turned and walked out of the room.

The drive to Hillerska was too long and simultaneously too short. He wanted to get away from his mother. He wanted to get Beau settled. He wanted to see Simon. But he wanted to do those things with clarity. His mother’s parting words had left him even more unsure of how to move forward. If his parents pulled him from school, he would never see Simon again.

Mr. Claesson was waiting when they arrived. “Your Royal Highness, I’m so excited you’ll be joining us this semester.”

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Should we get Beau to his stall and I’ll show you around the stable?”

“That would be great.”

Wilhelm led Beau out of the horse trailer and into the stable. He had the last stall on the right. There was a plaque with his name on the door. On the other side of Beau’s stall was the tack wall. Every horse had a hook to hang the bridle and a post to rest the saddle. The saddle blankets and pads were hung over a dowel that ran the length of the wall below the posts. On the opposite wall was a series of cubbies where everyone kept their brushes and hoof picks. The second floor was the hay store. The riding ring was next to the stable and a grassy paddock was tucked behind both. A mulch track looped the area.

“These are your animals so this is very much a student run program,” Mr. Claesson said. “Horses need exercise and care. The stable staff takes care of feeding and cleaning out the stalls. They let the horses out into the paddock once a day. Students are responsible for maintaining their equipment, grooming their horses, and exercising them. You should be riding everyday, even days you don’t have lessons. Except for curfew hours, the stable is open. Some kids end up spending more time down here than in the dorms. Sound good? Any questions?”

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll leave you to situate yourself. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

As Mr. Claesson walked away, Felice and Madison walked in. “Wilhelm! Are you riding again?” Felice asked.

Madison waved to Malin. Malin nodded in acknowledgement.

“Hey!” Wilhelm said. “Yeah.”

She squealed and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh my god, really! That’s awesome.”

“I hope so.”

“Don’t you hate riding?” Madison asked Felice.

“I don’t hate it. And that’s beside the point.” She turned back to Wilhelm. “How was your break?”

Wilhelm looked down at his feet. How was your break? That’s not what she was really asking. No, she was asking: Are you ‘out’ now? Did you stand up for yourself? Have you stopped letting yourself be a pawn in your mother’s game? How are things with Simon? Have you fixed that? Or are you still a coward? He kicked some straw off his shoe and shrugged. “How was yours?”

“Same.”

“Mine was great,” Madison said.

“Hey!” Sara walked in.

“Hey,” Felice said. “Classes don’t start until tomorrow.”

“I know but I wanted to come say hi and hang out. New horse?” Sara asked, peering around them.

“Yeah. He’s mine.” Wilhelm was happy for the change in subject.

“He’s gorgeous,” Sara said, pushing past them to pat Beau. “Anglo-Arabian?”

“Uh, yeah.” Wilhelm nodded, eyes wide.

“You can tell by the shape of his face,” she said, rubbing up his nose between his eyes. “The way it dips in. And makes him look so cute. He’s friendly too.”

“Well every horse likes you,” Felice said.

Simon wandered in then. He was wearing his purple hoodie and a black toque that struggled to contain the curls that bounced around his face. He looked cute and warm and Wilhelm wanted to wrap his arms around him and bury his face in his neck. He settled for “hi. How are you?”

“Good,” Simon nodded. “You?”

The girls had gone quiet. Wilhelm could feel their eyes on him. His chest tightened. Everyone had watched him ruin this relationship. Everyone thought he was a joke and a coward. He couldn’t have an audience as he fumbled through repairing it. “Yeah. Same,” he stuttered out. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you guys later.”

Felice called after him but Wilhelm kept walking. The dorms were loud. Everyone was moving back in and catching up after the break. Doors were open. Students were in and out of rooms. Wilhelm marched through the throng, eyes straight ahead to his room at the end of the hall. A student stepped across his path and hesitated – August. Wilhelm stopped, frozen as his muscles seized. All he could do was stare. August’s eyes widened.

“Hi Wilhelm,” said a voice on his left. Wilhelm turned. Henry gave him a small wave from where he was seated at his desk. Wilhelm had stopped in front of his room.

Wilhelm waved back then shoved past August.

Milo was standing guard outside his room. “I placed your bags on your desk, sir.”

“Thanks,” Wilhelm said. He shut the door behind him and fell onto his bed. He didn’t know if he could do this.

Chapter Text

Classes started back on Tuesday. Wilhelm was up early and dressed early. Uniforms were required for the first day back after break. The knotted tie pushed his chin up a little higher. The maroon blazer held his shoulders a little straighter. It was a pretty shell but the inside had been hollowed out. His mother had held him down, splayed his arms, and let others – August, the media, the entire country – sink their claws into his flesh. Then there was Simon. Simon had refilled the chasm in his chest. He could stand on his own with Simon. He wasn’t being propped up by marionette strings. His mother had dug her own nails into him then. She ripped Simon away and Wilhelm collapsed.

His shoes clacked through the hallways of their own accord to his first class. 

“Ah, His Royal Highness. First one,” his history teacher, Mrs. Evans greeted. She was young. She regularly cast off the school issued blazer for an oversized, slouchy cardigan. That was not a reflection of her teaching style though. She was strict and demanded a lot from her students. Wilhelm was slightly afraid of her. “Off to a good start after the New Year.”

“Yeah.” Wilhelm nodded. He started to his seat but she stopped him.

“I had the great pleasure of teaching your brother.” She adjusted her cardigan, pulled it closer around her body.

“Oh.” Everyone had an Erik story and everyone felt compelled to share it with him. He brought his notebook to his chest and folded his hands together, resigned to listen. The stories were never for his sake. The stories did not fill in the chasm. The stories scraped at his rib caged for the speakers gain. The stories were their pieces of Erik and now they had a piece of him too. 

“He was very studious and very clever. A great writer. Even then, I could see he had the makings of a great King.”

Wilhelm fiddled with his watch. “Yeah. He would have.” - Now you’re stuck with me. Sorry. 

Voices grew from the hallway. “Good morning Malin.” Madison. She and Felice walked in the classroom a moment later.

Mrs. Evans continued. “If you put in the work, you’ll do just as well.”

Wilhelm nodded. He stepped back and turned towards his desk but bumped into someone walking in the door. “Sorry,” he rushed out.

There was hand on his shoulder. It was gentle but steady. Familiar. Simon.

“You alright?” Simon asked. His brown skin glowed against the white collared uniform shirt. He stepped closer to let Sara and the other students pass. A sea of maroon jackets flooded the room and threatened to sweep Simon away.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Wilhelm said. He was warm. Too warm. “Sorry.”

Simon smiled and shook his head. His curls bounced around his eyes. Wilhelm wanted to run his fingers through them and push them back off Simon’s face. “It’s fine.”

He pushed his own hair back instead.

Both of their phones chimed. Simon was the first to break eye contact and check the notification. His smile fell and his brows dipped. Wilhelm quicky pulled up his phone. It was a group text from August to the rowing team. The first practise would be Thursday after class. Simon moved past him to his desk. His anchor had been cut.

Wilhelm turned to follow and noticed then that everyone had been watching them. Every small moment was on display. Nothing would ever be theirs and just theirs again. Wilhelm ducked his head and moved to his seat at the desk next to Simon’s. He tried to busy himself with school stuff. He flipped open his notebook. He wrote the date at the top of a new page. He scribbled his pen in circles when the ink stopped flowing halfway through. He looked back at his phone and reread the text. He couldn’t imagine going to rowing practise and listening to August’s instruction. 

“Hi Wilhelm.”

He whipped around to his far too peppy desk mate. “Hi Henry.”

“How was your break?”

“Not great.”

Henry’s face fell. “Oh.” He looked down at his notebook.

Wilhelm sighed and pocketed his phone. His tone had been harsh and curt. Henry didn’t deserve that. He started to apologise but Mrs. Evans started class. They were beginning the World War Two unit. Just what he needed – Nazis.

Last block of the day was Wilhelm’s first equestrian class. It was a double block that stretch into after school hours. Beau walked up to his stall door as soon as Wilhelm walked into the stable. “Okay, Bozo. You have to back up so I can open the door.” Beau rested his head on Wilhelm’s shoulder and insisted on nose pets before moving.

“Behind you.” A girl walked by, her arms loaded down with a saddle and blanket. Wilhelm pressed himself up to the stall door. The stable shrunk to half its original size with half a dozen girls climbing over each other and their horses in the crossties.

“What do you think?” Wilhelm asked Beau. “Looks a bit chaotic out there.”

Beau shook his head.

“No? Is that a no? Alright we’ll stay here. You have to be good though.”

Beau snorted.

“Yeah, you’re always good, aren’t you?”

The lesson started with a warm up. Everyone walked clockwise around the edge of the ring in a well-worn track in the mulch. Once they evenly spaced out, they picked up into a trot. Wilhelm hadn’t done more than take Beau for a walk since the summer but he found the posting rhythm quickly. He smiled, relieved. Bouncing around in the saddle was always embarrassing. “Keep your distance. Circle the end or cut across the middle when you need to,” Mr. Claesson called. “Heels down. Back straight.” Wilhelm rolled his shoulders back. He imagined the reigns stretching up right arm across his upper back and down his left arm. He could create his own marionette strings. 

Felice caught up with the girl in front of her. She turned Rousseau to cut across the center. He stopped once he was off the track. Wilhelm completed two laps before Felice was able to get Rousseau going again. It was rough. Equestrian was not an individual sport. Rider and horse were teammates. If a horse didn’t want to move, didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to jump, there was nothing a rider could do.

Wilhelm looked back as Felice filed in behind him. He smiled. “Nice job.” She shook her head but smiled back.

Mr. Claesson set up trot poles in the center of the ring and at the two ends. They began riding in a figure eight pattern. Beau stepped easily over the poles as if they weren’t there. Rousseau did not. He veered off the outer track to avoid the poles at the northern end of the ring.

“Felice,” Mr. Claesson called. “Circle around and come at the poles again.” 

Rousseau slowed to a walk as Felice turned him.

“Alright, two point over the poles,” Mr. Claesson called as Wilhelm rounded the north end of the ring again. “Keep your heels down and your back straight.”

Wilhelm stood in the saddle and leaned forward. Beau stopped abruptly in front of the poles. Wilhelm jerked forward. “Woah.” He froze in place, his hands resting on Beau’s neck. Beau’s ears were down and back. He was distressed. He’d never stopped like that before.

“Wilhelm,” Mr. Claesson called. “Circle back. Let’s try that again.”

Wilhelm slowly sat back in the saddle. He pulled the right reign to guide Beau off the track. Beau turned his head back to Wilhelm. His ears perked back up and he stepped away from the poles. “What was that Bozo?”

“You good?” Felice asked. She was still struggling with Rousseau.

His stomach was hollow. His thighs burned and shook and slipped from grip around the saddle. He wasn’t good. They had barely been in the ring thirty minutes. He hadn’t fallen. Beau wasn’t injured. No one would even consider what happened a close call. Wilhelm shook his head to re-ground himself. His helmet was heavy. “Yeah,” he answered. “You?”

Felice shrugged. “This is usually how it goes.”

Wilhelm reached forward to pat Beau’s neck. “How about you, Bozo? You good? It’s just trot poles.” Wilhelm clicked and tapped his feet against Beau’s side. Beau picked up a trot again immediately. Wilhelm dropped his eyes from the track and poles and watched Beau as they approached. His head and ears were up and forward. His pace was steady. Wilhelm inched his hands up the reigns. A step out, he stood. Beau trotted over the poles without fuss. Wilhelm patted him. “There we go. Good boy.”

By the time Wilhelm made it back around the ring, Felice had hopped off Rousseau and Sara was leading him to the mounting block. It was a good arrangement on paper. Rousseau got the exercise he needed, and Sara got the opportunity to ride. Wilhelm wouldn’t be able to stomach watching another student ride his horse because he couldn’t – one more public display of his inadequacy. Felice took Sara’s seat in the front row of the bleachers. She was a better person than Wilhelm.

Mr. Claesson let Sara complete a few laps of the figure eight trot poles. “Pull back to a walk. Let’s go back to clockwise around the ring. Space yourselves out.” Wilhelm ended up between Madison and Sara as Mr. Claesson hustled around the ring and rolled the trot poles out of the way. “We’re going to pick up a canter. We’re going clockwise. What lead do we need to be on?”

The girls all answered “Right.”

“Right,” Wilhelm echoed.

Madison turned around and laughed at his late response. Wilhelm shrugged.

“Right. Good,” Mr. Claesson said. “Which leg do we move back?”

Wilhelm waited for the girls to answer before answering “left” himself. Madison tilted her head back laughing.

“Wilhelm, are you going to keep letting the girls tell you the answer?” Mr. Claesson said. Wilhelm’s cheeks warmed.

“Mr. C,” Madison said. “It’s a joke.”

“Is it? I don’t get it.”

“That means you’re getting old, Mr. C.”

“Thank-you Madison. Trot a few paces and pick up the canter on the next curve in the track. If you get the wrong lead, pull back to a trot and try again.”

Wilhelm followed Madison around the southern end of the ring. He waited until she and Kaiser took off before he brought his left leg back and tapped Beau. Beau launched into a canter. His strides were strong and smooth. He covered the length of the ring in twelve paces. A smile spread across Wilhelm’s face. The speed intoxicating. It was a hint of freedom. If only he wasn’t trapped in a ring, riding around in a circle. If only he was outside on a rural, open plain and could run forever.    

“Check your lead. Who’s on the wrong one?” Mr. Claesson asked.

Wilhelm leaned forward to check. Beau’s right front leg, his inside leg, landed ahead of his left keeping him balanced around the curves in the track. He was fine. Madison was fine. In front of Madison was Klara. She was off. Her horse, Chicago, leaned heavy into the turn. Wilhelm didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to call anyone out. 

“Chicago’s on the wrong lead,” Sara said.

“Good spot, Sara,” Mr. Claesson said. Klara got Chicago on the correct lead and they all completed two more laps. “Let’s split off. Sara and Natalie, I’ll take you first. Everyone else can do exercises.”

Wilhelm followed Madison and the others off to the side of the ring. The girls gathered around the left side of the bleachers where Felice sat and stretched amongst chatter. Left hand up in the air then down and touch your left foot. Left hand back in the air then cross and touch your right foot. Wilhelm halted Beau on the right side of the bleachers. He watched as Sara and Natalie worked on more cantering drills.

“Wilhelm. Stretches,” Mr. Claesson called. He motioned for Wilhelm to join the girls who were suddenly quiet and frozen in some contortioned pose – windmilling limbs, arms and toros leaned back over the horse’s hindquarters, or all the way forward over the horse’s neck. Madison was seated backwards in the saddle. Their ridiculous posture was a façade. Their eyes stared back at him, Felice, Madison, and the others whose names he barely knew, cast with judgement.

Wilhelm stayed where he was but motioned through the stretching routine. He couldn’t touch his toes and he certainly couldn’t swing his leg up over Beau’s neck to be seated side saddle, and then over his hindquarters to be seated backwards with any amount of grace.

Mr. Claesson pulled Wilhelm and Felice last, after the others had finished jumping and had taken their horses back to the stable. They started with cantering trot transitions in a figure eight pattern. When the direction of the circle changes, the lead needs to change to. Wilhelm started clockwise and picked up a canter on the right lead. He did a full lap before cutting across the center at an angle. He pulled back on the reigns until Beau slowed to a trot. He bounced through the three paces, turned Beau’s head left, and brought his right leg back. Beau picked the canter back up on the left lead and they continued around the end of the ring. Wilhelm leaned forward and patted his neck. “Good boy.”

“Excellent, Wilhelm. Excellent.” Mr. Claesson called.

Wilhelm completed another full lap to avoid Felice and Rousseau who had halted in the center during the transition. Once Felice got him moving again, Wilhelm cut back through the center and transitioned back to the right lead. With only two riders, the track was wide open and Beau stretched his neck and stride and he flew down the long sides. The trot transitions did little to slow him.

“Wilhelm. Let’s see some control. Come circle the end.”

Wilhelm resisted rolling his eyes. He had control. He was seated deep in the saddle. His reins were taught, elbows tucked at his waist, shoulders straight. He was moving with Beau. He wanted to go just as fast. But he complied and turned Beau in consecutive circles.

“Spiral towards me,” Mr. Claesson said, moving to the center of the circle. The tight angle forced Beau to slow, arching his neck, and tucking in his head. “How did you feel today?”

“Good,” Wilhelm said. He gave Beau a pat.

“You did really well. Everyone else fumbled at least one lead pick up. You look comfortable in the saddle.”

“Beau makes it easy.”

“You’ve got a good one. When I spoke to your father on the phone, he said you and Beau had some jumping experience.”

“Yes,” Wilhelm nodded.

“Okay, good. I usually start my new students off slowly just so I can get a feel for their level. I’m going to set up two crossrails, one along either side and you can just go up and down them.” 

Wilhelm spiraled Beau back out to the track while Mr. Claesson adjusted the jumps. Their height was disappointing. The rails crossed only half a meter off the ground. A horse could almost just trot over them. The others had been jumping twice that height. At least the audience was minimal.

“Veer off the track as you round the end and steer straight for the center of the jump. Reigns tight. Heels down. Back straight. Grip with you knees.”

Beau jumped the crosses easily. Wilhelm barley felt him leave the ground. Beau picked up speed again though and that was far more thrilling. They did two laps of the jumps and then switched leads in the center and did two more in the opposite direction.

“Good. We’ll wrap it there for today. That was great, Wilhelm. You’ve got good a handle on him and Beau’s very agile. We’ll raise the bars next lesson.”

The stable was still busy when Wilhelm and Felice walked their horses back. The girls were laughing about something. Wilhelm took Beau to his stall and began pulling off his gear. “You did so good,” he said after taking off his bridle. He cuddled Beau’s head to his shoulder and pressed a kiss to his nose. “You’re that best boy, aren’t you?”

Beau sighed against him.

“Yeah.”

Wilhelm hung his equipment up in the tack room and pulled out his brushes.

Madison skipped over to him. “What do you think?”

“Madison. Don’t!” Felice protested.

Wilhelm flicked his eyes between them. “Think about what?”

“Henry. What do you think about him? You sit beside him in class.”

“Oh.” The stable went quiet. Seven pairs of eyes were on him, more if you count the horses, waiting to see what incriminating gay stuff could be gleaned from his answer. His throat closed. He rubbed his hand across his chest and grabbed his shoulder.

“I think he’s cute. In a puppy way. But I don’t mind that. I need a change.”

Wilhelm nodded. “Madison, you would eat him alive.”

She shrugged. “I’m kind of into that.”

Everyone laughed. Wilhelm took the opportunity to escape back into Beau’s stall. He took a deep breath. Beau sighed in camaraderie.

Wilhelm was picking out Beau’s hooves when Sara said, “I’m almost ready.”

“Okay,” Simon said. “Is Wilhelm here?”

“Last stall.”

Wilhelm set Beau’s leg down, stood, and brushed his sweaty hair from his face. He cringed. It was really sweaty. Helmets were awful. Be good, he mouthed to Beau as Simon’s steps approached. 

“Hey,” Simon said. He was bulked down by his backpack and winter jacket. He’d loosened his uniform tie and undone the top button of his shirt so that the hollow of his throat peeked out. His skin was soft there. “How was practise?”

“Good. It was good. What were you doing?”

“Nothing. Some homework.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.”

“This is Beau, by the way.” He looped his arm around Beau’s nose and Beau rested his head on Wilhelm’s shoulder. “You can come say hi.”

Simon shook his head. “Sara’s the horse one. It’s not really my thing.”

“He’s friendly. Promise. Hold out your hand and click your tongue.”

Simon did so and Wilhelm stepped away so Beau would go to Simon’s hand. Simon pet his muzzle. Beau sighed against his hand and Simon flinched away.

Wilhelm chuckled. “That means he likes you.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Does it?”

“Yes.” Wilhelm nodded. “It does. He’s smart.”

Simon rolled his eyes. He moved his hand back to Beau’s muzzle. “Es guapo. Good name.”

Wilhelm smiled. His cheeks warmed. Simon rarely spoke Spanish. Wilhelm loved it when he did.  “Thanks. I’m quite proud of thirteen-year-old me.”

“You named him?” Simon smiled.

“Yeah. Got him as a foal from France.”

“Jesus,” Simon shook his head. “Of course. The prince gets his own horse at thirteen from a foreign country.”

“I mean I’m sure there are worse ways I could spend your hard-earned tax dollars.”

“Yeah, alright.” Simon pulled his hand away and shoved it in his pocket. “Anyways, I wanted to tell you that I’m quitting rowing. I can’t be around August. Can you let the team know?”

“Oh.” Wilhelm should have seen it coming. August had disrespected Simon all of last semester and it had culminated in the video. Why would Simon subject himself to more? Simon had mentioned he was thinking of quitting over Christmas break. Wilhelm had hoped he would reconsider. It was a selfish hope, maybe. Rowing was something they did together. Spending time with Simon, running, working out, on the water, was half the appeal. It was all Wilhelm had left. And now it was gone too. He looked down at the hoof pick in his hand. He fiddled with it. He jabbed it against his palm.

“What?” Simon asked.

“Nothing.”

“Wille.” Simon paused. Waiting. Wilhelm looked back up. “I know,” he said. “I know. I just can’t do it.” The knocked his fist against the stall door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Wilhelm nodded.

Simon and Sara left and the rest of the girls trickled out shortly afterwards. Wilhelm moved slowly and absently through the rest of the tack down routine. Tears pricked in his eyes. He blinked them away. They pricked again. His chest constricted. He forced a deep breath into his lungs. He held it and then slowly released. He did this until his eyes dried and his chest relaxed. Beau nudged him. “I know. I have to do something.”

Wilhelm thought of that something as he walked back to his dorm room. He sat down at his desk and pulled out his phone. He made a new group contact that included everyone on the rowing team except August.

Rowing team meeting tomorrow. Do NOT tell August. Weight Room at 5.

He hovered over the send button for a moment. There was no turning back from this. He hit send and quickly texted Simon.

Come to the meeting tomorrow before you make your final decision.

Wilhelm watched his phone. He reread the messages. Had he been too demanding? Would the older guys take him seriously? Were they loyal to August? Wilhelm ran his hand through his hair. It was still sweaty. He tossed his phone on his bed and grabbed his shower kit.

The water was hot and the pressure was strong. Wilhelm soaked in it until his skin was bright pink – branded.

He had a dozen replies when he got back to his room. Many of them were question marks. No one protested though. He held his breath before checking Simon’s.

Okay.

The weight room was dark. Wilhelm sat on the small table in the corner by the mirrored wall. The team trickled in and took various seats around the room, on the rowing machines, on the bench press. Simon was the last to arrive.

“Everyone’s here,” Leo said. “What’s going on?”

The mirror doubled everyone. Wilhelm was surrounded. He looked at Simon who stood alone by the door. He was small and prepared to escape if needed. Wilhelm pushed himself off the table to his feet. “Thanks for coming. Obviously, August isn’t here. The reason for this is that he needs to be removed from the team. I trust you can all read between the lines as to why. His actions are unbecoming of a teammate and especially a leader. So, I’m purposing we collectively kick him off the team and elect a new captain.”

“And I’m guessing that captain is you?” said Lukas.

“No. I don’t want to be captain.”

“Can we even do that?” Gunnar asked.

“Yes.” Wilhelm said. He didn’t actually know but that didn’t matter at the moment.

“Without August, we’ll be down to nine. That leaves us with no alternates.”

Stefan raised his hand. “Sorry, I don’t know what we’re talking about. What did August do? Is this about Aleksander?”

The room fell silent. Simon’s eyes dropped to his feet. Was he willing them to run? Sink into the floor? Wilhelm crossed his arms over his chest. “No. It’s not about Aleksander. August was responsible for the video.”

“Seriously?” Stefan asked. “Do you know for sure?”

“Yes. I had proof and when I confronted him, he admitted to it.”

“Shouldn’t the school be doing something? Or the police?” Leo asked.

“They don’t know. The palace wants it buried. Any action would prolong it and point more fingers at me. I would appreciate your discretion on the matter. Now,” Wilhelm said, desperate to move on from the topic of the video. “August was good at keeping on top of practice schedules and organizing everything but we need to be able to trust our teammates so we can push everyone to their best. August cannot be trusted. He needs to go.”

Leo stepped forward. “Let’s vote. Raise your hand if you want August kicked off the team.” Wilhelm raised his hand. Simon raised his. Leo raised his and then one by one, the others did as well. “Okay. It’s settled. August is out. Now we need a new captain.”

“I nominate you,” Wilhelm said to Leo. He was a senior and had been on the team for three years. He had rowed with Erik. He was good at it. And the last ten minutes proved he could lead. Lukas seconded the nomination, and everyone raised their hands again. “It’s settled.”

Leo nodded. “Tomorrow, we’ll keep practise at the same time. Wait outside. Wilhelm and I will tell August.”

Leo knocked on Wilhelm’s door shortly before practise. “August just headed down to the weight room. You ready for this?”

“Yes.”

“Have you thought about August trying to blackmail you. You kick him off the team, he talks to the press. I’m not trying to dissuade you. I just want to be sure.”

Wilhelm had thought about it. He had played this game of chess out in head seven moves ahead. “He has no leverage. He talks, I’ll go to the school. I have proof on top of what palace security has. I don’t need their cooperation.”

“And if it ends up going that way, you’re okay with that?”

“Yes.” It would almost be easier that way. The easy option was the coward’s option. “It’s what I should have done from the beginning.”

“Okay,” Leo nodded. He was quiet for a moment and then said “I was on the team with your brother and I, um… I’m just sorry this all happened. We’ve got your back. And Simon too. I know he’s been on the outs because he’s a local kid but that’s bullshit. He’s on the team. He’s one of us.”

“Thanks,” Wilhelm said. Simon would probably be mildly offended at being called one-of-them. He’d scoff or force down a snicker. Wilhelm smiled. “Let’s go.”

August was leaning against the table Wilhelm had been sitting on the previous evening. “Where is everyone?” He barked. He was annoyed.

Leo stepped forward. “They’re outside. They’re waiting for you to leave. We’ve voted. You’re out.”

“What?” He laughed. “I’m out? What does that mean?”

“You’re off the team.”

“I’m the captain.”

“I’m the captain,” Leo corrected.

“This is absurd.” He looked at Wilhelm with wide eyes. “I’ve been on the team for three years. Wille. Come on. It was a dumb mistake. I’m sorry.” The corners of August’s smile quivered.

Wilhelm stepped beside Leo. “If you’re sorry, you’ll leave. It’s that simple.”

August looked down at his feet and then back up, his smile re-affixed. Wilhelm shivered. “Fine. I’ll go.” August pushed off the desk and walked to the door. Wilhelm watched him leave through the mirrored wall. The team filed in after August. Only once the door had closed did Wilhelm turn around. He hoped August and the video and the aftermath was somehow trapped in the doubled world behind the mirror and that when he turned, everything would be erased, would be okay.

He looked for Simon who was standing in the back, hands in his pockets, alone. He wasn’t apart of the team. He was on the outs. Little had changed. It wasn’t okay.

Chapter Text

Wilhelm’s next equestrian class was in the morning before school. He was startled awake by his alarm. His eyes were sticky and sore. He sat on the edge of the bed as he dressed. His head was fuzzy and his stomach unsettled. It was too cold and too dark outside to be up and out of bed. In June, it might be alright. In January, it was cruel.

The stable was noticeably quiet compared to his first equestrian class. There was no gossip, no complaining about assignments, no discussion of last night’s tv. Everyone greeted each other with a yawn and then wordlessly shuffled past.

Wilhelm rested his forehead against Beau’s shoulder. He was warm and his stance strong. Wilhelm leaned into him and closed his eyes. He could have fallen back to sleep.

Sara’s voice stirred him. She was saying good morning to Felice and her chipper voice carried through the otherwise quiet stable. The commute from town must have woken her up. Simon was often with his sister. Wilhelm stepped back from Beau, rubbed his eyes, and got to work. If Simon was with Sara, he did not come to say hi.

Wilhelm pulled the girth around Beau’s belly and threaded the strap through the buckle on the saddle. It stopped tight two holes short of its usual position marked by the stretched and fraying leather. “Is this a protest?” Wilhelm asked.

Beau looked straight ahead and made no acknowledgement of Wilhelm’s words or plight.

“Is it too early? I didn’t set the time. Promise. So don’t be mad at me.”

Wilhelm grabbed Beau’s bridle next and Beau turned his head and shuffled his hooves away.

“Oh, so this is a protest.” Wilhelm hung the bridle over the stall door and held his palms up is peace. He dropped his voice to a whisper so no one else would hear. “I did something, you know. About Simon. I kicked August off the team so Simon could stay on.”

Beau turned and looked at him then.

Wilhelm stepped closer and wrapped his arm around Beau’s nose and stroked the smooth hair as it transitioned from white to charcoal. “You liked Simon, didn’t you?”

Beau relaxed his head onto Wilhelm’s shoulder. It was heavy with sleep and contentment.

“Yeah, me too.” Wilhelm reached for the bridle with his free and hand and slipped the bit into Beau’s mouth and the straps over his ears. “Good boy,” he said, biting back a tricked you. Wilhelm laughed to himself. His horse was just as blinded by Simon as he was. “Now, back to this,” he said moving back to the girth. “I squeezed into these riding pants so you’re not the only one.”

Beau huffed a deep breath and Wilhelm managed to tighten the strap one hole. He tightened it a second time at the mounting block before swinging his left leg over Beau’s back and leading him across the ring.  

The horses were no more awake than their riders. They plotted along the outside track of the ring with their heads down. “Let’s pick it up,” Mr. Claesson said. They moved from a walk to a trot and steered over a series of trot poles that were slotted in their path.

The lesson structure was similar to last time. Before stretches, Mr. Claesson had them all come back to a walk and take their feet out of the stirrups. Felice groaned behind Wilhelm. Madison spun around. “This is torture,” she said.

“There’s been a lot of lazy posting this morning. I want to see you use your legs. Let’s go.”

The resulting effort was nothing short of pathetic. They completed a lap while trying to stand up in the saddle with just their thighs. Wilhelm didn’t think it was possible. No stirrup assist. No bouncy gate assist. Just burning thigh muscles and a lot of stretched necks and raised shoulders to give the illusion of height.

“Butts off the seat,” Mr. Claesson called. He spun around his cane in the center of the ring to keep an eye on everyone. Wilhelm had noticed the cane before but not the hobble. Mr. Claesson’s left leg didn’t extend fully when he stood on it leaving him lopsided and leaning into the cane.   

“He should refrain from talking about our butts while subjecting us to torture,” Madison said quietly so that he couldn’t hear. Felice laughed. “It’s just common sense these days.”

“I fail to see what’s funny,” Mr. Claesson called.

“Don’t get us in trouble,” Wilhelm said. “He’ll make us do another lap.”

Thankfully, they were only subjected to one lap after which they were split into groups of two to jump. “Wilhelm. You’re first.”

Mr. Claesson set up a vertical jump – a simple horizontal pole. Two additional poles were rung below the top pole as a visual aid. He set the height at point-seven five meters, part way up his thigh. The jump was in the center of the ring. The approach was long and straight. Beau noticed the jump four paces out. His stride picked up, longer, faster. His neck stretched, tugging the reigns, to pull his body forward. Wilhelm loved it. He loved that he knew what Beau was thinking. His energy radiated through Wilhelm. He stood up in two-point, Beau leapt, and they cleared the jump.

“Good?” Mr. Claesson asked.

“Good. Easy,” Wilhelm nodded.

“Alright, let’s go up.” He raised the poles to point-nine meters, around his hips.

Point-nine meters was the same. Good. Easy. One meter forced Beau to open his stride even more. Wilhelm was yanked over the jump and landed back in the saddle on the other side with a thud. It took him a couple strides to sit up straight and regain his balance. “Tighten your reigns,” Mr. Claesson called. Wilhelm quickly gathered the floppy reigns and pulled Beau back to a trot as they approached the end of the ring. Wilhelm looked back to check the jump. Beau’s back hooves had clipped the pole on his way down but it was still in its rungs. No faults. “Good. Not as good but good. We’ll work here.”

Wilhelm nodded. One-meter looked high and felt even higher. His form had been sloppy and unprepared. If he could tighten in up, smooth out his transition into two point and back down into the saddle, one-meter would feel like flying.

Mr. Claesson converted the one-meter vertical into a square oxer to lengthen Beau’s jump so the arch wasn’t as jarring. He set up a course. It started with a point-six-meter Swedish oxer at the southern end of the ring. It was similar to a cross rail but the poles were braced on separate standards which lengthened the jump. Turning left up the east side of the ring there were two point-eight-meter combination verticals. Around the northern end of the ring and then down the west side was the one-meter oxer. Then down around the outside of the Swedish oxer and up diagonally across the middle of the ring was a point-eight-meter oxer. He traced his finger through the air over the course. It was all counterclockwise – no lead changes.

Beau jumped high and long over the Swedish oxer which sharpened the turn to the vertical combination. His approach was slow. He almost needed a fourth stride between the jumps. He took off too early from the third stride and knocked a pole on the second vertical. He picked up speed as he rounded the end of the ring and approached the one meter. He needed it. He needed the power. He pulled against the reigns and Wilhelm gave him an inch. Heels down. Grip with knees. Three paces out. Two paces. Up in two point. Beau ducked out of the path of the jump and stopped. Wilhelm lurched forward but caught himself before he ended up on Beau’s neck or flat on the ground. A chorus of “whoas” rang from the bleachers. The girls had stopped mid stretch and mid conversation to stare at him and his horse.  

“You alright, Wilhelm?” Mr. Claesson asked. His heart raced and his breath wavered but Wilhelm nodded. He was okay. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Wilhelm said. He steered Beau back around to the front of the jump. He watched his ears. They twitched, flicking forward, and to the side and back. He was anxious. Wilhelm wished he could ask why. What did he do wrong? The approach was long and straight. He was balanced. Wilhelm placed his palm flat on Beau’s shoulder, in front of the saddle.

“You jumped it fine earlier.” Mr. Claesson raked his cane through the mulch in front of the jump to make sure Beau hadn’t tripped on anything. He picked up each of Beau’s hooves to see if anything was caught in his shoe. “All clear.” He patted Beau’s neck. “He just spooked. Why don’t you take him around the ring and just over this one?”

Wilhelm took Beau back to the outer track and picked up a canter. His body was tense. His fists were tight around the reigns. His nails dug into his palms. His thighs shook. Beau jumped. His back hooves knocked the lone pole on the second standard down. But he jumped. That was good enough. “Good boy.” Wilhelm pulled him back to a trot.

Mr. Claesson had him pick the canter back up, circle the end of the ring and do the vertical combination again. With a better approach, Beau cleared them without faults. He went all the way back around then to do the course in full. He held Beau tighter over the Swedish oxer to make the turn into the combination earlier so he had room to pick up the needed speed. He landed the combination without faults and arced to the one-meter. Beau charged forwards. Wilhelm sinched his elbows to his waist and held him until Beau pulled him up and over. That ping of his hooves hitting to pole echoed through the ring but Wilhelm kept his eyes forward. He sat back and straight and eased Beau slower around the end of the ring and into the diagonal path to the final jump. He cleared it with ease and Wilhelm slowed him to a walk.

He completed the course again. Beau stopped at the final jump the same way he had stopped earlier and the same way he had stopped at the trot poles during the first class. They went again until they finished with a clean round and then took their break by the bleachers to do stretches. Wilhelm watched the other girls jump. Klara went after him. She was the only other rider that jumped at one meter. Mr. Claesson lowered the jumps after she finished. There were a few other refusals. Rousseau slowed down to trot and walked around several jumps on Sara. Kaiser plowed straight through a vertical standard knocking down all three poles. None of the other horses stopped dead in front of the rails though. It scared Wilhelm. He didn’t know what was wrong. He had no warning. With enough momentum he could easily fly over Beau’s head, into the poles, into the standards, and then into the ground. It wasn’t uncommon for riders to fall. He’d fallen twice before and both times he had bounced back up without injury. That’s usually how it went – back on your feet and back on your horse. It could be bad though and now that he was the Crown Prince, would his mother or the state allow him to take that risk?

At the end of practice Mr. Claesson stopped Wilhelm as everyone lead the horses back to the stable. “One meter is a great start. We’ll sort out the refusals and get you up to one point two in no time. There’s an annual competition in April that I enter students in. You could do very well. I confess I don’t know much about being the Crown Prince, and I may be overstepping, but I assume your options after school will be limited. This could be an option. You could do this long term, compete, go to the Olympics. It would be a good look for the palace but it would belong to you, be your own accomplishment.” Mr. Claesson’s wrist strained on top of his cane, holding his weight and balance.  

“I don’t know if they would let me,” Wilhelm said.

“No need to worry about it now. Just keep it in mind.”

Wilhelm led Beau back to his stall and began to pull off his tack. He couldn’t spend his life sitting around the palace waiting to polished up and carted out for public viewing. Beau swung his head around while Wilhelm was brushing him and nudged at his shoulder. “What?” Beau nudged him again. Wilhelm smiled and shook his head. Beau shook his own head. He loved this. He loved his horse. He loved riding. He loved jumping. He couldn’t allow it to be taken away. Every time Beau stopped in front of a jump, it slipped a little further through his fingers.

“Wilhelm!” Sara said, catching up with him as they walked from the stable back to the main building. “You know he spooks when you stand, right?”

“What?”

“Beau. Both times he stopped was when you stood in two point early. When you stayed seated until the last second, he jumped fine.”

“Oh.” Wilhelm stopped and turned back to the stable. He tried to replay the lesson in head. “Really? He’s never done it before.”

Sara shrugged. “It’s what I saw. Horses can develop new habits in new situations. It’s probably the Arabian in him. They’re a spooky breed.” She carried on walking.

Wilhelm caught back up to her. “How do I fix that?”

“I don’t know. Take him to some fancy trainer. Maybe it doesn’t need to be fixed. Maybe you just need to understand how to work together.”

“Huh.”  

“We’re getting our Polynomial tests back in math today. How do you think you did?”

Wilhelm blinked at the quick topic change. “Uh, fine. I’m not great at math but it felt alright. You?”

“I aced it. I’ve always been good at math.”

Wilhelm wished Simon had inherited his some of his sister’s natural talent. His face fell when the test was handed back to him. He curled the edged of the paper to shield the red marker from the view of others and slumped in his chair. Sara leaned over and said something to him. He couldn’t hide. His orange and teal striped rugby shirt was too bright.

Mr. Wingarick placed Wilhelm’s paper on his desk. He tapped it and looked at Wilhelm over the rim of his glasses before moving on. 78%. It was alright. It wasn’t good enough to offer Simon help. It wasn’t good enough for Mr. Wingarick. Erik would have gotten at least 90%.

Wilhelm escaped the dining hall early at lunch. August was there and Simon wasn’t. Henry may have been mid-sentence when Wilhelm pushed his chair back and stood from the table. He didn’t want to talk. It was too cold to go outside so he ended up on the windowsill at the end of the hall, head tucked into his phone. Kids milled about the halls around the corner. Their voices muddled together as they bounced off the wood floors and the walls lined with framed pictures of previous graduating classes stretching back decades.

Then Simon spoke. “Leo, wait up. Do you have a minute?”

Wilhelm looked up. He couldn’t see them. They were around the corner from the window nook at the end of the hall.

“What’s up?” Leo said.

“I don’t think I can stay on the rowing team. I’m doing terribly in math, and I need the time to study.”

Leo groaned and was quiet for a minute. Wilhelm winced. Leo’s head must have been spinning. Simon couldn’t quit now. There were no alternates. Why had they not sorted this out before kicking August off the team. Why couldn’t he ever get anything right? “You can’t quit.”

“I can’t fail. You could probably find someone else.”

“Anyone new would be terrible and you’re actually alright. What if we get you a tutor?”

“I don’t think I can pa-”

“No, yeah, that’s what we’ll do. Gunnar’s good at math. He’ll do it for free. I’ll talk to him and get it sorted. You can’t quit, okay. We’re a team.”

“Uh… okay.”

“Okay.”

Footsteps rounded the corner and suddenly Simon was in front of him. He stopped. He looked unsure. His eyes darted to the floor. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans like he had on movie night, the night he had kissed him, sweet and timid and brave. Wilhelm bit the inner sliver of his lip trying to recapture Simon’s. That first kiss had been too quick though and Wilhelm had been too nervous that now he couldn’t remember how it felt.

Instead of stepping towards him and the window at the end of the hall, Simon leaned back, stepped back, and started to turn.

“See now I know you’re avoiding me? Trying to quit the team again?” Wilhelm said. He smiled. It was a joke. Mostly.  

“I get that you’re the prince and all but not everything’s about you.” Wilhelm waited for Simon to smile back. He didn’t.

“Are you mad at me? Again?”

“No.”

“Simon.” Wilhelm tucked his palms between his knees and leaned forward off the icy windowpane. His shoes dangled in the air. Simon’s stood firmly along the floor boards. “Just tell me?”

Simon sighed but stepped towards him. “I just wish you had told me your plan, with the team and August. You brought it all up again and blindsided me. I was standing by myself in the back corner of the room listening to everyone else discuss the most traumatic moment in my life. I needed a little warning or to be consulted first. Maybe I should have inferred as much from the text but still.”

Wilhelm nodded. Simon was right. Simon was always right and he just created mess after mess. “Sorry. I was hoping they would all figure it out without having to explain.”

“You’ve met those guys, right? They’re idiots.” Simon smiled then and leaned against the wall.  

“You’re getting math tutoring from one of them.”

“Yeah. Apparently, I’m an idiot too.”

Wilhelm shook his head. Simon wasn’t an idiot. He was clever and preceptive. Wilhelm couldn’t say that though. Not now. He pushed his hair back. “Nine idiots in a boat. What are the odds we all drown before the end of term?”

“High. Higher now of course because August is going to punch holes in the boat in retaliation. But I’m bad at math so what do I know.”

Wilhelm laughed. “Oh my god. I weighed out every fallout option to make sure this wouldn’t get worse but I didn’t think of that one.”

“I am glad you kicked him off the team.” Simon said, his voice sincere.

“I couldn’t be around him either. Can I ask you something?”

Simon raised an eyebrow.

“Do you actually want to quit? Are you using the math thing as an excuse? We can find a replacement. Doesn’t matter if they’re any good or not.”

Simon shook his head. “No. It’s not an excuse. I like rowing.”

“Good. I like rowing too.”

Simon rolled his eyes “Okay. I’m going to go now.” He pushed off the wall and walked away down the hall.

“See you in class,” Wilhelm called after him.

Simon looked back and shook his head.

In history Mrs. Evans gave out the unit assignment that week – pick one small aspect of the World War II – a battle, a resistance movement, a notable person – to research and give a class presentation on. Projects were the worst. They were busy work. It was easier and quicker to just read the textbook and memorize the information. Wilhelm was okay at public speaking. He still got worked up before hand. His heart would race. His cheeks would warm. But once he started he could read the words placed in front of him clearly without rushing or stammering or a waver in his voice. It was a well-trained skill. The words were never his own though. He could hide behind that, each staffer, the speech writer, the proof-reader, the media consultant, another layer between himself and the audience. School presentations had to be his own words. Wilhelm wasn’t good with his own words.

On days he didn’t have equestrian last block or rowing practise, Wilhelm returned to his dorm room to do homework. The trees outside the window blocked what little light was left of the late afternoon sun. His desk lamp illuminated a small conical space in the corner on his room. Beyond the cone, his bed and wardrobe and door, were cast in shadow. His chair squeaked as he leaned forward over his history textbook. He rested his forearms on the desk and it wobbled forward on the front leg that was a half a centimeter shorter than the others. The radiator clicked beside him between each word he read. World – click- War – click – II – was – click – a – click – global – click – war – click – that – click – lasted – click – from – click – 1939 – click – to – click – 1945. Each click veered his mind onto a different track. Simon. August. Eric. His mother. He sat up straight and wretched his hand away from his mouth and where he had been gnawing at his nails. The desk wobbled back without the weight of his arm. Patches of pink, recessed skin sat around his nails, a fresh layer that he had bitten down to. The patches were bordered by the white jagged edges of the top layer that had been torn away. His hands were a mess. He couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t even manage schoolwork. He was already behind in the readings. He hadn’t even read the introduction to the World War II unit for History. His eyes scanned over the same line three times but Wilhelm had no idea what it said. The dorms were too quiet. He needed noise to drown out his thoughts.

Closing his textbook and retreating to his bed and laptop would be easy but homework put off until Saturday often got put off again until Sunday morning and then again until Sunday night. He gathered his books and went to the common room.

Simon was at a table with Gunnar. They had a table for six to themselves but sat next to each other. A math textbook lay open in front of them surrounded by loose leaf paper covered in scratch work. Simon’s head was down, working through a problem. Curly ringlets hung in front of his eyes. That was probably the cause of his math troubles, he couldn’t see what he was doing. Wilhelm pushed back his own hair as Gunnar leaned close to Simon. Their shoulders touched. Gunnar slipped his arm under Simon’s and touched the tip of his pencil to a number. Simon paused and turned to Gunnar who began to explain the error. Their arms remained tangled together, tangled around Wilhelm’s chest which tightened and sunk to the floor. He swallowed and resisted. He refused to be pulled under the wooden floorboards and the concrete foundation into a dark and damp earth. The climb out would be too long.  

“Wilhelm. Come sit.” Felice waved him over to the next table where she was sitting with Madison.

Simon looked up then, eyes wide, seemingly startled by Wilhelm’s presence. He sat back, untangled his arms from Gunnar’s and pulled them down into his lap. Wilhelm smiled – hello, don’t worry about needing math help, don’t worry about sitting close to Gunnar or anyone else, we’re good.

A chair scraped on the floor. “Malin, you can sit here,” Madison said, patting the empty seat next to her.  

“Thanks, but I don’t sit,” Malin said.

“Ever?” Madison said, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open.

Malin did not respond.

Simon looked back down at his math problem and nodded at something Gunnar said without returning Wilhelm’s smile. Wilhelm bit it away. Simon didn’t need his permission or assurance.

Felice corralled her homework sprawl to make room for Wilhelm at her table. The space was too small though, too close to Simon who was too close to Gunnar. Wilhelm could only resist the downward pull for so long.

“It’s okay,” Wilhelm said to Felice. “Thanks though.” He turned and walked out of the common room into the hall and stopped. Malin stopped behind him. Wilhelm could feel her watching him, waiting for him to decide left and outside or right and back to his dorm. He looked dumb. He was dumb.   

He went left and outside and walked quickly to the stables. He didn’t have a jacket. Thankfully, the stable was warm. The horses neighed back and forth and shuffled through the straw that lined their stalls. A staff member walked through the loft above and the footsteps creaked through the wood. The stable was alive. There was no space for his spiralling thoughts.

The straw in Beau’s stall was fresh and Wilhelm sat down in the corner and opened his history textbook. Beau ducked his head down and nudged his nose against the book. “Want me to read to you? It’s a bit depressing.” Both the war and that he had resorted to picking his horse as his study buddy. “Ok. But no slobbering.”

Wilhelm scratched Beau’s nose before pushing him back a safe distance.

“World War II was a global war that lasted from 1939 to 1945. It involved the vast majority of the world's countries—including all of the great powers—forming two opposing military alliances: the Allies and the Axis powers. In a total war directly involving more than 100 million personnel from more than 30 countries, the major participants threw their entire economic, industrial, and scientific capabilities behind the war effort, blurring the distinction between civilian and military resources. Aircraft played a major role in the conflict, enabling the strategic bombing of population centres and the only two uses of nuclear weapons in war to this day. World War II was by far the deadliest conflict in human history; it resulted in 70 to 85 million fatalities, a majority being civilians. Tens of millions of people died due to genocides (including the Holocaust), starvation, massacres, and disease. In the wake of the Axis defeat, Germany and Japan were occupied, and war crimes tribunals were conducted against German and Japanese leaders.”

He made it through the first paragraph, reading out loud at a slow, steady pace. Then the second. Then the third. Beau’s ears perked attentively towards Wilhelm. He caught up to the assigned reading and kept going. The morbidity and the scale were fascinating. It was the perfect escape from his own head.

“Are you reading to your horse?”

Wilhelm startled at the voice. Simon leaned against the stall door, eyebrow quirked.

Wilhelm’s cheeks warmed at his own childish behaviour. This was only marginally better than reading to an imaginary friend. “Maybe. Malin’s here too.”

Simon looked back to the front of the stable where Malin had taken up post. Beau stepped up to him and Simon startled backwards. “Whoa.”

“I told you he likes you,” Wilhelm said.

Simon hesitantly reached his hand forward and patted Beau’s nose. “Is that the best way to show it? Sneaking up on me?”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaking. He’s pretty big.”

“He’s trying to escape story time.”

“Okay, first, he likes story time. And second, it helps me focus.” Wilhelm closed the book in his lap. “I have to do well in school. Teachers will remember and nobody wants their King to be an idiot.”

Simon nodded. “True. I would certainly double down on my calls for revolution.”

“How does dating the Crown Prince factor into your revolution again?”

“Dating?” Simon chewed on the word, his eyes fixed on Wilhelm.

Wilhelm held his gaze. His statement was bold and he wasn’t going to walk it back.  

Simon’s lips slowly spread into a smile. “Interesting. But, you know, keep you friends close and your enemies closer. Trojan war style.” Simon stepped closer to Beau and his hand rested more comfortably against his muzzle. “You’re already a fan of horses. It’s not that complicated.”

“I see.” Wilhelm smiled. “How’s the math going? Gunnar seems to know what he’s doing.”

Simon quirked his eyebrow again. “Yeah. He does.”

Wilhelm’s chest tightened. There was an unintended implication to his words. He shook his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“How’s riding going?” Simon asked.

Wilhelm leaned his head back against the wall. He breathed out and his chest unwound at the change in subject. Simon had always been gracious and Wilhelm was eternally impressed by and thankful for it. “Good. I forgot how much I love it. Beau’s been stopping dead in front of jumps though. We need to sort that out. Sara said he does it if I stand in two-point early.”

Simon folded his arms over the stall door and rested his head on them. He turned to look at Beau, his face hidden from Wilhelm behind his mop of curls. “He loses contact with you.” Simon’s voice was quiet, muffled by his jacket sleeve. “He needs to know that you’re still there and in control.”

They were back to unintended implications. Or maybe not so unintended. Simon didn’t turn back to him. Wilhelm stood and stepped up to the stall door. He folded his arms on the door beside Simon. Their right arms rested against each other. Simon turned to face him then and Wilhelm bowed his head to meet him. There were mere inches between them. In another time and world – where the tape didn’t exist or he had stood up to his mother or a point in the future where he managed to fix it all - Wilhelm could have and would have leaned over and kissed him.

Simon’s eyes were wide. They flicked around Wilhelm’s face, between each of those alternate realities. They were so close and yet – Simon sucked in his bottom lip – so far. Wilhelm took a deep breath and allowed himself to smile. It wasn’t one of those perfect moments but it was something and that was okay. That was okay for now. “I thought you said Sara was horse one,” he said quietly.

“Yeah. I did say that.” Simon smiled back and nudged their arms together further. Then he pulled away. “You smell like horse.”

“I think the horse smells like horse,” Wilhelm said.

“No. It’s you.”

Wilhelm groaned and ducked his head behind his arms. He did smell like horse. It wasn’t unpleasant, something warm and earthy mixed with leather and wood. But it wasn’t a scent you would bottle in cologne or melt into candle wax. He peaked back up with a wince. “Guess I need a shower before dinner.”

“Yeah.” Simon smiled and nodded. He shifted the strap of his backpack. “Have you seen Sara at all? I was supposed to meet her here to go home.”

“No. I don’t think she’s here.” Simon pulled out his phone. Wilhelm gathered his books, patted Beau goodnight, and stepped out of the stall. They walked to the front of the stable and checked with Malin. She shook her head. “Maybe she’s with Felice?”

“She wasn’t in the common room with them.”

“Were they still there when you left?”

“No.”

“Okay, well let’s check the girl’s dorm then. She could be with them now.”

“You don’t have to come,” Simon said. “You can keep reading.”

“It’s fine. I’m done.”

“Yeah?”

Wilhelm nodded and stepped outside. It was dark now and the cold wind bit at cheeks. He hugged his books to his chest so he could wrap his arms around himself as they walked towards the dorms.

“You’re freezing,” Simon said.

Wilhelm nodded and Simon left it at that instead of digging into why he didn’t have a jacket. He probably knew why already.

Sara walked out of the dorms as they reached the building. Wilhelm caught the door behind her and held it open to stand in the warmth that radiated from inside.

“Where were you?” Simon asked.

“With Felice,” Sara said. She crossed her arms, pushed past Simon, and started down the path to the bus stop. “Let’s go.”

Simon quirked his eyebrow. Wilhelm shrugged. “See you Monday then,” Simon said.

“Yeah. Have a good weekend.”

Simon turned and hustled after Sara and suddenly Wilhelm didn’t care so much about getting back inside. He watched Simon and Sara walk down the path towards the bus stop. If he had a jacket, he could have walked with them and waited with them. If Sara had stayed just a little longer, he could have walked with Simon to Felice’s room. Maybe they would have had to field comments from the girls – What were you two up to? Wille’s cheeks are all red! Is this a thing again? – Maybe Felice would have hurled a pillow across the room to shut Madison up and then mouthed a sorry in their direction. Wilhelm’s cheeks certainly would be red then and not from the sudden change in temperature after walking inside. Simon would roll his eyes and maybe slip him shy smile. But maybe not. Maybe he would have backed out of the doorway, eyes on his shoes. Maybe it would have been too much. Maybe this was for the best.

Wilhelm stepped inside out of the cold. He turned left down the hallway towards the boy’s dorms. The hallway was loud now. Everyone had put their schoolwork away for evening. Wilhelm went straight to his room. Monday felt far.

Chapter Text

Wilhelm shivered awake Saturday morning. He pulled his left arm free from where it was shoved up under his pillow. He couldn’t feel it. The weight of his head had constricted the blood vessels and nerve endings. The arm flopped in front of his face, visibly intact, but internally severed and numb.

He pressed the palm of his right hand against his left and locked his fingers together. The pressure forced blood into the empty vessels. The flesh tingled back to life. He shivered again and tucked his arms back under the blanket that was pulled high up around his chin. He had rolled onto his back, away from the position he had slept in and the warm part of the sheets. Despite the current chill, he’d woken up in the night too hot and stripped off his pyjamas and tossed them across the room. They were too far away now. Two whole steps. He shivered at the mere thought of exposing his bare skin to the open air. He rubbed his right hand over his chest. The friction warmed.

His mind drifted to Simon and the morning Wilhelm had woken up with him in his arms, Simon’s body curled into his. Heat radiated from Simon’s golden skin like soft afternoon sun. He imagined Simon sprawled on top of him, hugging him close for support and comfort. He imagined running his hands down Simon’s back, the taper of his waist and then the swell of his ass. Wilhelm dipped his hand into his own boxers as he imagined dipping into Simon’s. He rocked up and imagined rocking Simon down.

He was half hard. He closed his eyes and rocked up into his hand, into Simon. He spread Simon’s cheeks apart. Simon burrowed his face into his neck, shaky breath, hungry lips. His fingers inched closer to the cleft.

The room brightened beyond his eyelids. Wilhelm’s hand froze and he shot his eyes to the window. The curtains were still and closed. A glow crept around the edges. Grey clouds had cleared, allowing the morning sun to break through.

Wilhelm slowed his breathing. He was still only half hard and dry. He closed his eyes again in search of Simon, the weight of his body on his, the warmth of his skin, the soft, wet press of his lips, the sweet gasps that escaped his mouth. The black void had stolen him away. Or maybe he had run, scared off by the light shining through the window, or escaping Wilhelm’s use of him to get off.

Wilhelm’s hand felt clinical. His strokes were rough and forced. His eyes blinked back open to the curtain and the window. It was futile. He pulled his hand from his boxers. His skin was clammy. It was colder now.

Wilhelm got out of bed. He pulled on a t-shirt and hoodie. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers but paused and looked back at the curtains and the window. The curtains were still and closed. He shook his head, slipped off the boxers and pulled on a pair of briefs and then his sweatpants. He laced up his sneakers, grabbed his phone and earphones, and stepped into the hall.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness,” Malin said, bowing her head.

“Morning.” His checks flushed. Malin didn’t know. But he knew. “I’m going for a run around the lake.”

Malin paused. “Oh.”

Wilhelm smiled. He’d never seen her falter. “I could sneak out my window for a run. If you’d prefer.”

“No. I would not prefer, sir. You could run around the track.”

Wilhelm scrunched his nose and shook his head. “The track’s boring.”

“I’d have to agree with you there.” She sighed. “Alright. Let’s go for a run around the lake.”

The path around the lake was a mix of wooden boardwalk, packed gravel, forest trail, and rural roadways. He went right, counterclockwise. A brick lay bridge arched over the small creak the ran into the lake and marked the northern campus boundary. It looked like something out of a fairy tale. A troll could easily be housed beneath it – August. Wilhelm let his feet fall a little heavier on the bridge to disturb the troll’s sleep or even better, knock some debris from the underside onto its oversized head.

After the bridge, the path veered back to the lake’s edge. The lake water condensed into a thick fog along the path, its escape into the atmosphere thwarted by the bitter Swedish winter. Reeds crowded the boardwalk, trying to hop out of the water. Patches of ice scattered across the surface. Rumours circulated the school’s halls of winters decades ago when the lake froze over and everyone went skating. That sounded better than running. The cold air dried his throat and stung his lungs. Malin’s footsteps fell into pace behind his. It was motivating. Don’t slow down. Don’t let her pass. She wouldn’t. She had to keep her eyes on him. But still.

A quarter of the way around the lake, the path detoured around an old house, following the wooden rail fence that ran along the back garden. He could jump the fence on Beau. Easy. There was a small outbuilding next the fence. The paint had long peeled. Some of the side boards were missing. The owners used it to store firewood. A single light from the house cut through the fog. It glowed soft and warm from the back windows that looked out on the porch, and the tall grass, and the woodshed, and the lake.

An alternate life flashed before Wilhelm, each pace clicked the slide wheel forward and projected successive images onto the fog screen in front of him. Smoke wisping from a chimney into the damp morning air. A fireplace, at the foot of a bed, housed embers that purred through the suffocating ash and char that dimmed their red light. Simon – always Simon – tucked into his side, wrapped in his arms. Simon’s lips murmuring against his neck, whispering back to the embers, warding off the day. Wilhelm carefully pulled away. The soft drape of a hoodie that held faintly to yesterday’s warmth. Quiet footsteps on the creaky stairs. The click of the light on the stove hood. Coffee trickling into the pot, its rich scent filling the kitchen, and then the sitting room, and then the hall, before soothing the morning scratch in his throat. The still lake blanketed in fog. A proper stable standing in the tall grass. A small home carved out for them on the lake front, secluded and quiet. A head rested heavy between his shoulder blades. Arms snaked around his waist. Fingers, Simon’s fingers – always Simon - slipping underneath the purple hem to find skin. Their touch cold but welcome. More murmurs. “You stole my hoodie.”

The fog lifted on the dead-end road that ran in front of the house. The sun was warm on his back. Too warm. Wilhelm pushed up the sleeves on his grey Hillerskas hoodie and ran.

The path picked back up at the end of the road, leading into a wood thicket. Bjarstad sat on the other side of the woods, across the lake from the school. There was a small park along the shore front with swings and a teeter totter and a merry-go-round. Another runner stood by one of the picnic tables, leaning over his leg raised high on the table’s surface. Wilhelm would certainly injure himself if he tried to mirror the position. The runner stood straight as Wilhelm got closer.

Simon – always Simon – only this time not a figment of his imagination. He had managed to wrangle back his purple hoodie.

Wilhelm pulled out his earphones, slowed, and stopped on the other side of the picnic table. “Hi,” he smiled and then winced as he struggled for breath. He raised his hands to the back of his head, opening his lungs to more oxygen. There were surly dark sweat stains under his arms and his face red and blotchy. Attractive. Just what Simon desired.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Stalker.”

“I could say the same thing.”

“Well, I suppose you should talk to your security about that,” Simon nodded to Malin.

Wilhelm had forgotten she was trailing him. She was silent, unlike the wheezing mess he was. “Be careful. She could lay you out flat before you knew she was there.”

“Best be on my way then.”

“Run together?” Wilhelm said.

“I usually go the other way.”

“Really? That’s the best excuse you could come up with?”

Simon winced. His nose scrunched. He peaked back at Wilhelm through only one eye. Caught out.

It was adorable. He was adorable. Even when he was trying to literally run away. Wilhelm wanted to smile, and laugh, and wrap his arms around Simon’s neck, and kiss every inch of his face.

“Yup,” Simon squeaked out. And then he laughed, the kind of laugh that would ring across the lake. “Fuck. It’s eight. It’s Saturday.”

Wilhelm smiled. He could not hold Simon’s faux pas against him. He wiggled the earphone in his fingers. “We don’t need to speak.”

Simon chewed on his bottom lip. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Wilhelm echoed. He slipped his earphones back in and watched Simon do the same. Simon ducked his head, spun on his heals, and picked up a brisk pace. Wilhelm sprinted to reach his side and then set his mind to keep in step. It was a strenuous task. He had already completed half of the run whereas Simon was fresh. Don’t slow down. Don’t let him pull ahead.

The packed gravel path through the park stepped up onto a wooden boardwalk as it turned around the south side of the lake. The boardwalk was narrower. Their shoulders grazed as they squeezed side by side. Simon glanced at him, a smirk on his face. Wilhelm ducked his head, watching their feet fall in sync, and smiled. They slipped into fog again. Malin trailed further than before, though certainly not for tire, and they were obscured from her view. They could make a run for it. Wilhelm could grab Simon’s hand and they could just go. They would have a five-minute head start if not more. But where to? And would Simon allow himself to be led? No. No, he wouldn’t.

They reached the school grounds again far before Wilhelm was ready to part. They stopped by the pier. Simon was out of breath now too. His lips hung parted. He wiped his runny nose on his purple sleeve. His usually springy curls were matted down around his face. Wilhelm smiled. He wanted to kiss Simon so bad, capture his open lips in his own and allow Simon to gasp all the breath from his own lungs.

“What?” Simon asked, becoming aware of his gaze.

Wilhelm shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Okay,” Simon said. “I should keep going. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Okay,” Wilhelm nodded.

“Don’t forget to stretch,” Simon said before continuing down the path to the brick lay bridge.

Wilhelm hated stretching. Simon knew. Simon remembered. Wilhelm lifted the front collar of his hoodie up over his face. It masked his smile and the way he bit his bottom lip as the image of Simon stretching flashed before his eyes. If Simon offered to stretch with him, Wilhelm might be more agreeable. As it was though, Simon had disappeared into the fog and the winter air was becoming unbearable against his sweat damp skin. Wilhelm pulled his hoodie down, wiping the sweat and the smile from his face. He walked back towards the dorms.

“If I may, sir,” Malin said. “Simon’s right. You should stretch.”

“Simon’s always right. It’s too cold though. I need a hot shower.”

Wilhelm stopped in the bathroom doorway. The showers were busier than he had expected. The morning chill must have worked its way into everyone’s bed. Voices echoed off the tiled floor and tiled walls and collided in his head. There were only three towels left on the rack. Wilhelm wanted to turn around, go back to his room, shower later. Malin was posted outside though. She would think he was pathetic and a coward.

“Hi Wilhelm.”

Wilhelm turned his head. Henry had walked in behind him. “Uh, sorry.” Wilhelm stepped to the side, out of Henry’s way.

“It fine.” Henry said. He stayed put and held out his hand out for Wilhelm to go first.

He had no choice now.  

Wilhelm grabbed a towel from the rack and shuffled past the other students, down the benches to the first unoccupied square foot.

The layout wasn’t entirely inhumane. There was some semblance of privacy. The showers were divided into stalls with high walls and decently opaque curtains. Of course, there was nothing stopping a student from ripping open the curtain while another was showering – as a joke. During Wilhelm’s first week, August had grabbed the edge of the curtain while he was showering to tease him. It hadn’t escalated beyond that. August had let go. His silhouette had disappeared from the other side of the curtain. His footsteps, slaps on the wet tile, had faded. Even then though, after August had left, Wilhelm had stood frozen under the hot spray, not breathing, one hand covering himself, the other stretched out towards the curtain, ready to grab it and hold it in place. He didn’t move again until shampoo trickled down from his hair and stung his eyes. Wilhelm brought his hand up from his crotch to his chest. He titled his head back into the spray and wished it could wash away his anxiety and his shyness. Erik wouldn’t have cowered. Erik would have struck a pose and if the curtain had been pulled back, he would have come out on top.   

“Did you go for a run?” “Wilhelm?”

Henry was staring at him. Everyone was staring at him. Walter. Nils. Lukas. Wilhelm was frozen again, towel rung in his hands, shins bruised into the front edge of the bench. He nodded at Henry and his question and looked away from his eyes but there were eyes everywhere. He looked down, below that invisible line of courtesy that cut across the male chest. It was a mistake and Wilhelm knew it immediately. He was surrounded by bare thighs and bare waists and loosely hung towels. His heart stuttered. His cheeks warmed. His hand shook as they scrambled at the hem of his hoodie and elastic waistband of his sweatpants and briefs. The faster he undressed, the faster he could get in the shower, behind the curtain, and away from the eyes that followed him. It was worse now. Being the prince had always drawn eyes but the video drew more. People thought they had free reign to his body now, to stop what they were doing an openly watch as he undressed. There was second reason for their pause. They were waiting for Wilhelm to leave. Since the video and his subsequent outing, Wilhelm’s own gaze was perceived as a weapon. Boys in various states of undress were wary of him now. No one wanted to be ogled when they were simply trying to shower, particularly teenagers who were working their way awkwardly through puberty. Wilhelm didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s discomfort. He didn’t want to look and he didn’t want to be looked at. He just wanted to disappear.

Wilhelm stumbled into the shower and turned on the spray. The steam and the hot water was suffocating. His head was light and stark grid lines of the grey grout between the white tiles bent and twisted. He turned the handle until the water ran cold and braced his arms against the wall until his body calmed and the bathroom slowly cleared.

When Wilhelm returned to his room, he had a text from Leo. He was calling a rowing practise the next day. Wilhelm didn’t respond. He tossed the phone on his bed. He wanted to spend the rest of the weekend alone, in his room.  

On Sunday, Wilhelm found himself sitting down on the empty rowing machine next to Simon. “So much for Monday. Seems like the universe is trying to push us together.”

“The universe should speak to your mother.” Simon didn’t look at Wilhelm and his tone was cold. Wilhelm stilled, the rowing cable extended, his thighs and arms trembled. Simon let go of the cable, finished with his reps, and then rotated to the free weights. Wilhelm had overstepped. It was just a dumb joke. It didn’t mean anything. So why did he have to say it? His muscles ached. He should have listened. He should have stretch. His grip and gave way. The cable snapped and seat slid in. The clatter echoed around the weight room. Everyone’s eyes turned on him. They loomed above him in the mirror – judgment, ridicule. Again, he was painted the incapable child. The joke.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

They didn’t get the boats on the water until the beginning of February, once the ice patches had cleared. Leo had them haul out the double sculls. Simon helped Gunnar lift a boat off the rack. They carried it on their shoulders down to the pier. The weight of the fibreglass hull pulled the collar of Simon’s sweatshirt away from his neck and his collar bone and the tendon that Wilhelm had once kissed and nipped and laved.

Leo clapped him on that back and Wilhelm jolted forward. “All hands on deck. Help me with the last one,” Leo said. Once all the boats were on the pier and ready for launch, Leo pointed out the six orange buoys floating in a straight line across the lake. “We’re doing time trials. Pair up. I’ll be the odd man out,” Leo said. “Newbies together.” He winked at Wilhelm and then climbed into the single boat already in the water. Simon shoved his hands in his pockets and walked over Wilhelm. Wilhelm busied himself with the rowing gloves his parents had given him for Christmas. They were snug. He flexed his fingers to break them in. Simon smirked at him.

“Don’t,” Wilhelm said. His smile betrayed his protest as an invitation. He wanted Simon to remember their phone call on Christmas Eve. He wanted Simon to tease him.

“Sissy.”

Wilhelm faked a groan and Simon laughed. The light sound echoed across the lake. The other boys were looking at them. Wilhelm turned away from them. “Okay. Okay. Help me with the boat.”

They got the boat in the water and situated at the starting line. The first round was two minutes. They had two minutes to row between each buoy. If any pair failed to reach a buoy in time, everyone had to re-do the course. Once everyone had successfully completed the course, the time limit would be shortened. It was an exercise in maintaining pace and working in sync with a partner. The first round was easy – a warm up of sorts to get them reacclimatized to the boats after almost two months out of the water.

The next round was one hundred seconds. They had to work for this one, especially the final stretch. They were the last to finish but still crossed the final buoy just before Leo blew the whistle. The trouble came with ninety seconds. Wilhelm’s arms shook with each stroke. His sore abs stopped propelling his body back which provided the most forward force to the oars which only exacerbated the shake in his arms.

“Stop splashing,” Simon said from behind him. “The water’s freezing.”

“Sorry,” Wilhelm huffed. “I don’t think we’re going to make it.” He couldn’t see the other boats beside them anymore. They had pulled too far ahead.

“Just keep going.”

“We’re not going straight anymore.”

Simon laughed. “Don’t know about you, but I was never going straight.”

The whistle sounded behind them. Wilhelm turned to look for the fourth buoy. They were still two yards out. They missed the fifth and sixth buoy as well. “Looks like were doing that round again,” Leo said. The other boys groaned. Wilhelm didn’t blame them. He set his eyes on the stern of the boat and focused solely on pulling the oars through the water. Pull. Pull. The boat glided smoothly, faster and faster. The trees on the shoreline grew smaller. Simon breathed heavily against neck. It was rhythmic, coming with each stroke, a small reward for his efforts, wrapping him in warmth like a scarf. Wilhelm leaned further into it, further back. Simon’s knees grazed either side of his waist. He fit perfectly between them. They made it past the fourth buoy this time. And the fifth. But Leo blew the whistle before they reached the sixth.

“Seriously.”

“This is why we shouldn’t take first years.”

“Why don’t we swap partners?” Gunnar suggested.

“Nope. Let’s go again,” Leo said.

Simon mumbled so that only Wilhelm could hear. “I can’t. I’m going to die.”

“We were close. We can do it.” They could not. The shake in Wilhelm’s arms grew and half-way across the lake, the oar slipped from his left hand. Simon’s oar slapped into it, splashing them both with icy water and halting their rhythm. Wilhelm let go of his other oar. “I say we take a break.”

“Don’t those hundred-dollar gloves have grips?”

“Yes.” Wilhelm stuck his hand behind him, in Simon’s face, to show him the small black bumps on the palm and fingers of the gloves. “See.”

Simon batted it away. “Well they’re pretty useless. Rich people always think they can just throw money at things.”

“That’s a stretch but okay.”

“They’re going to hate us if we just sit here.”

“If we keep going, we’ll tire ourselves out and we’ll never make it.”

“They’re probably thinking they’d be better off short a rower with August than a full team with us.”

Wilhelm refused to turn around. The entire team would be watching them sit idle and pathetic. With each moment that passed though, the team would pull further and further away and they would grow smaller and smaller like the trees on the shore line until they were nothing more than a dot on the water’s surface. “Nobody’s better off with August.”

“Okay, no more August.”

Wilhelm nodded. He brushed the hair back from his face. The lake grew quiet and still. “How are things with your dad?”

“What?” Simon asked.

“I don’t know. I saw him at St. Lucia. Things looked weird. I was going to ask then but, well, the video…”

“Yeah,” Simon sighed. He didn’t say more and Wilhelm started to panic that he’d said the wrong thing again. His eyes skipped across the water looking for a way to back track – You don’t have to tell me. – I didn’t mean to pry. – Couldn’t be anymore of a mess than my family. – Sorry. “That’s a bit of a nightmare,” Simon said. Wilhelm’s eyes stilled. “And of course, it’s my fault. We hadn’t heard from him in over a year and now he won’t leave us alone. I’ve told Sara to block his number but she would rather get mad at me every time he calls or texts her. Mama's stressed. She won’t say anything but I know she hates having to deal with him. She just sits there silently while Sara yells at me.”

“Do you want him around?”

“No.”

“Have you told him that? Have they told him that?”

Simon scoffed. “That’s not how this works. He’s an addict and a child. He doesn’t care what we want. It’s all about him.” 

“Then it’s not your fault.” Wilhelm twisted around to look at Simon. Simon had leaned all the way back and was laying against the bow of the boat. He tilted his head up to look at Wilhelm. “Simon. It’s his fault.”

Simon stared at Wilhelm but Wilhelm didn’t relent. Simon huffed a breath into the cold air between them. He dropped his head back again and looked up at the grey sky. “You want to know the worst part? When I asked him for the booze for the party, he looked disappointed like he had either realized that that was the only reason I was there or because I was drinking. He’s a fucking addict. I don’t even drink. I refuse to touch the stuff because of him but I’m not going to tell him that because he doesn’t get to know that he has any impact on my life. So whatever, eventually he gave in and said some crap about remembering what it was like to be young and trying to impress a cute girl. But he knows I’m gay. I’m out. We’ve had this conversation. So, I told him again. Dad, I’m gay. And he smiled and said, ‘oh right, cute boy then’. And I was so stupid because I fell for it.”

You’re not stupid, Wilhelm thought. 

“He was being okay with the gay thing, and it felt nice, so I thought maybe he’s not as bad as I made him out to be. But no. He’s okay with it because he doesn’t care because he doesn’t care about me. He literally forgot. If he cared, he would have remembered. But now, now he’s asking me about you. I never said anything to him about you which means he knows about the video. And like of course he knows about the video. Everyone knows. But it’s horrific because at least I know my mother has tact and knows it was traumatizing and cares about me and would never bring it up again randomly. But with him, he’s a fucking child. You never know what he’s going to say. And when he’s high and mad, he’ll have a go at anything in his reach. It just festers there on the tip of his tongue and it’s vile. It makes my skin crawl. And he won’t stop asking about you because he thinks he had some hand in orchestrating it and so he’s owed something. Like he’s apart of it. And no. He’s not fucking apart of anything.”

You’re not stupid. It was still all Wilhelm could think about it. You’re not stupid. You’re not stupid. He didn’t flinch at the video. He didn’t overthink the implication that he was the cute boy and Simon was trying to impress him. He didn’t latch on to the idea that this had all been bubbling inside Simon for months and he hadn’t told anyone, but he had told Wilhelm. Despite everything, Simon still trusted Wilhelm on some level. These elements were registered and filed away for later but Simon thinking he was stupid could not be dismissed. Wilhelm couldn’t say it before, at the beginning of term, when they were talking about math, but he could say it now. “You’re not stupid.”

“What?”

“Simon. You’re not stupid. Do you know how much I would give for my parents to smile and joke around about it like that? And I’m not saying your dad deserves a chance because of it at all. I’m just saying you’re not stupid for giving him one.”

Simon pressed his lips together and the tendons that framed his Adam’s apple popped out, tight and strained. Was it embarrassment? Did he regret oversharing? Wilhelm licked his lips wanting instead to turn his body around fully in the boat, crawl over Simon, cover him, shield him, and push his tongue against the tendons until they soothed back into his throat. Wilhelm swallowed to push down the urge. Even if they were together – dating – and Simon’s reaction would be one of welcome and not an immediate hard shove to the chest, Wilhelm didn’t have the coordination to pull that maneuver off without them both ending up in the freezing lake. Still, the lump in his throat remained. “Sorry if this is weird,” Wilhelm said, his own vulnerability rushing out to meet Simon’s. “But on parent’s weekend, before lunch, Erik called me. We were talking about you. He was teasing me. I couldn’t stop smiling. It wasn’t real real. He didn’t know it was you specifically. Or a guy. But that might be the closest to the real thing I ever get.” He paused. “And I still think about it all the time.”  

Simon sat up. He was close. His jaw relaxed. His lips hung parted. “It’s not weird.” Simon smiled.

Icy water stung his face and Simon flinched away. Oars cut through the lake’s surface around them as the team rowed past. Leo slowed beside them. “You guys okay?”

“Yes,” Wilhelm nodded.

“Okay. I’m calling practice. You’re on clean up duty seeing as you gave up and didn’t finish. Bring in the buoys and re-rack the boats.” Leo smiled wide and pulled away to catch the rest of the team.

“I suppose we deserve that,” Wilhelm said.

“Don’t you get special treatment as the Crown Prince?”

“That doesn’t extend to you. You want to be on clean up duty by yourself?”

“Nope. I take it back.”

Wilhelm picked his oars back up and started rowing them towards the closest set of buoys.

“You think next week will be any better?” Simon asked as they were lifted the last boat onto the rack in the boathouse.

Wilhelm’s phone buzzed. It was his mother.
Wilhelm, the palace is holding a celebration for my forty-fifth birthday next weekend. Your attendance is required. A car will pick you up Friday after class.

Simon was watching him. He looked concerned, clearly having noticed the slump in Wilhelm’s shoulders and the furrow of his eyebrows. He could dismiss it, shove his phone in his pocket, grab at his shoulder and roll it back, say practise wrecked his arms. Maybe that would be best. His mother was still a sore subject. Wilhelm bit his lip and showed Simon his phone. “Not for me. I should block her.”

Wilhelm text back.
I can’t. I have schoolwork and rowing practise.

Mother:
This isn’t optional. We must show the nation that our family is strong and united and you have stepped fully into your place as Crown Prince.

Simon scoffed over his shoulder. “The nation doesn’t care.” Wilhelm smiled.

Wilhelm:
The nation doesn’t care.

Mother:
I’m not having this argument. You will attend.

Wilhelm:
Fine. But send the car Saturday morning not Friday afternoon.

Mother:
I’ll let the palace know of the itinerary change.

Wilhelm didn’t sleep Friday night. His mother loomed in the dark crevasses of his room threatening to claw apart his person-hood, his worldview, his shy reserve, Simon, his posture, his skin. His nails dug into the sore, red blemishes that ate at his cheeks, beating her to the punch. It had gotten worse that week, spread down across his chin. He ripped at his flesh. Blood oozed under the pad of his index finger. He pressed the heel of his hand against the wound to stave the spill. Blood slicked his wrist and he rubbed, bruising it back beneath his skin, spreading beneath the surface from his eye socket to his jaw, anywhere but out.

He opened his eyes at seven, got out of bed, and went to the stables. The car was coming at nine. Beau needed exercise before he left for the weekend. He hugged Beau around the neck and pressed his red skin against Beau’s soft, warm, white hair. When Wilhelm pulled away, his eye’s flicked over the hair, checking for blood.

“Wilhelm? Hi.”

Wilhelm startled. His hand flew to his chest. Felice stood at the stall door. “Shit. You scared me.”

“Sorry.” She rested her helmet on the door and then her hands and chin on top. She offered her smile warmly. “Are you going for a ride?”

“Uh, yeah. Quickly, before I have to go home.”

“Can I join you?”

He rubbed his hand over his jumper. He had hoped no one would be at the stable this early. This weekend he would be on display and he had hoped for a few more moments of peace beforehand. He couldn’t say that though so instead he returned her smile and said, “Sure.”

“How’s your history project going,” Felice asked once they were in the ring and letting the horses wander around the track.

“Terribly. I might have a topic but I don’t know.”

“Wilhelm! It’s due in a week.”

Wilhelm slumped forwards, leaning down over Beau’s neck. “I know. I’ll figure it out.” He groaned and then pushed himself back up and picked up a canter. Rousseau was being stubborn for Felice as usual. He trudged from a walk to a trot to a canter for a few paces and then back to a trot. Wilhelm steered Beau around them as needed. It was probably a more engaging ride than if he had been alone.

“You and Sara make it look so easy,” Felice said as Wilhelm cut Beau across the end of the ring in front of her.

“Do you actually enjoy riding? You could quit,” he called back.

“Wilhelm. Equestrian counts as a gym credit.”

“Don’t know how that got approved. Rowing doesn’t even count as a gym credit and it’s way more of a work out.”

“Never underestimate a rich girl to get what she wants.”

Wilhelm bit back a laugh. Simon had a point. Rich people did just throw money at things.

“And also before you started, it was an all-girl thing. This is far less humiliating than playing indoor football in co-ed gym.”

“Sorry for ruining it.”

“Nah. You’re alright. I do like riding, I think. My complaining is a defence mechanism. My mother pushes it, like she pushes everything, to create the perfect aristocratic daughter. The whole thing is gross. So I don’t like admitting to myself that I actually like it. And then I’m objectively terrible. Admitting to myself and everyone that I would actually like to be good and just can’t do it is a lot. It’s easier to pretend I don’t want it and am just being forced.”

“That’s insanely introspective.”

“You have to spend time with yourself. Get to know yourself.”

Wilhelm laughed at the vague innuendo. “What does that mean?”

“Oh my god. Stop.”

“You could come running with me? Sometimes Simon joins. Leg and core strength will help with riding.”

“Ew. Have you become a gym rat?”

“What?” Wilhelm said in defence.

“That sounds horrific.”

“Okay. The offer’s there. Let me know.”

“Sometimes Simon joins? How is Simon?”

“Fine.” Probably not fine but it wasn’t his place to say so.

“How are you and Simon?”

“I don’t have your level of introspection to answer that.”

“That’s a good sign. Any idiot would know if it was over over.”

“Maybe.”

“You know, this is the most I’ve heard you speak since Christmas. You should hang out with us more.”

Wilhelm nodded. He should.     

Chapter Text

Wilhelm’s phone chimed on the drive to Stockholm. Felice had posted the picture she took of the two of them that morning. She had showed it to him for approval after taking it. He had instinctively touched his face and the red blemishes that popped in the picture.

“Wilhelm, you look great,” Felice tried. “Your hair is deliciously dishevelled.”

He’d taken off his helmet and shaken out his hair. Felice had pulled Rousseau alongside Beau in the opposite direction and Wilhelm had twisted partially in the saddle to look at the camera.

“Your thighs are on another level. And your smile it precious.”

“Precious?” He rolled his eyes.  

“You look happy.”

“I guess. You look good.”

“It’s all about angles. Stop picking. It’ll make it worse. Trust me, I know. It’ll leave you with scars.”

“Too late,” he smiled. He looked at Felice then. Her skin wasn’t perfect either but he had hardly noticed before. It wasn’t as bad. Her darker complexion dulled the red. His pasty skin left is all on display, along with the blush of embarrassment currently festering in his cheeks. Or maybe his was worse simply because it was his. He moved his fingers away from his skin to his mouth. He chewed through the nail of his middle finger. “Fuck.” He shook his hand away. “My mother gets pissed when I bite my nails.”

“My mum started painting mine when I was young to get me to stop.”

Wilhelm laughed and it echoed though the riding ring. “My mother would have a heart attack.”

Felice laughed with him as they hopped off their horses and led them back to the stable. “I can delete it,” she said.

“It’s fine. You looked great. Do what you want.” Asking her to delete it made it worse. Wilhelm just wanted to forget it and move on.     

Felice seemingly wasn’t going to let him. She posted the picture with a black and white filter. The red was washed away. He should have known she had tricks. Wilhelm smiled and liked the post. He set down his phone and turned his gaze out the car window. Green fields stretched along the road as far as he could see. Fence posts wiped past the car in a blur but the fields rolled by leisurely. Sometimes Wilhelm wished he had been born in the 1800s and could ride Beau across those fields back to palace. The quiet, still world would be broken only by the steady thump of Beau’s hooves. The clear air would be disturbed only by Beau’s heavy breath and the morning dew he kicked up from the grass. In the 1800s, his mother couldn’t have inherited the thrown. In the 1800s, Erik couldn’t have been killed in car accident. In the 1800s, August couldn’t have recorded anything. In the 1800s, Simon couldn’t have come out and he wouldn’t have had any expectations for Wilhelm to either. Maybe Wilhelm would have had to marry a woman but royal marriages were different back then. There was little to no expectation of love or devotion or quality time, particularly from husbands. He’d be free to do as he pleased. He’d be free to be with Simon and Simon would be satisfied with the arrangement.

They passed an irrigation channel. Beau could have jumped it.

Outside the palace gates, there was a line of delivery trucks waiting to be cleared by security. His driver initially filed into the queue. Wilhelm was just one more décor element ordered express from an elite boarding school – one youthful heir, fit, blond Nordic hair, pleasant smile to charm, no tattoos, no piercings, wrapped neatly in a suit and propped up next to the Queen and her inoffensive consort to showcase nuclear family values and affirm the future of the monarchy and, by extension, Sweden as a whole.

The driver radioed ahead to the guard and they were quickly waved up the side of the delivery trucks and through the gate. The car continued to the right, to the front entrance, while the delivery trucks veered left, to the service doors. A dozen staff members with clip boards and headsets surround the trucks to assist the unloading of food and flowers. A single footman opened the car door for Wilhelm. No fanfare awaited him inside either. The staff and his parents were busy on the other side of the palace with the party. He walked the quiet halls to his bedroom. A navy-blue suit was laid across his bed. A royal blue pocket square with gold polka dots was folded on top of the suit. The silk was cool and smooth under his fingers as Wilhelm dotted them over the gold circles. It was a whimsical addition to the otherwise formal attire, fit for a birthday, fit for a young prince, but still the colours were pulled from the nation’s flag. Beside the suit was a note with a list of names. They were all girls, some he recognized, some he did not. It was his dance card for the evening. It was longer than usual. There was one less prince to entertain the younger female attendees. Wilhelm took a deep breath and swallowed. He swallowed the thoughts of his brother. He swallowed the names on the list. Even if he hadn’t denied the video, even if he had come out, even if he had been allowed to bring Simon as his date, his dance card would have looked the same. There were some social conventions that were harder to change. Wilhelm couldn’t imagine the Prime Minister’s son wanting to be twirled around the room by him. Wilhelm couldn’t imagine himself asking. He still felt slighted though. Wilhelm folded the list and stuffed it into the pocket of the suit pants.  

There was a knock on his bedroom door. “Sir, your mother is ready to go down.”

Wilhelm opened his eyes. His room was darker now. He was laying on his bed, stiff, arms at his side, legs bent at the knee and dangling off the edge. This way, his suit would not crease. Erik had showed him. He held his arm in front of his face. Erik’s watch read quarter after six. It had been quarter to when he had laid down. He brushed the hair back from his face and sat upright. “Thanks,” he called. He stood. His dress shoes clacked against the wood floor. He quickly checked his appearance in the mirror. Neatly wrapped.

His mother seemed to agree. She had no comment when he joined his parents in the sitting room. That was usually the best reception he could expect. Wilhelm made to turn towards the door but she grabbed his hand. Her skin was soft but cold. She turned his hand palm up for inspection then palm down and sighed. “You need to stop biting your nails, darling. They look like a dog’s chew toy.” She patted his hand. Wilhelm pulled it away and shoved it in the pocket of his pants, crinkling his dance card.   

He followed his parents out of their apartments, through the palace halls, to the state dining hall. There was chatter from within. They stopped at the double doors. His father kissed his mother on the cheek and then stepped back behind her and back again behind him. His mother nodded at the footmen and they opened the doors. “Her Majesty, Queen Kristina. His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Wilhelm. His Royal Highness, Prince Ludwig.” The chatter was quickly replaced by the scraping of chair legs as the guests stood in honour of their host and Queen. The string quartet in the room off the dining hall stopped the song they were playing and began Thou Ancient, Thou Free. They took their seats, his mother at the head, Wilhelm on one side, his father on the other. The other guests followed suit and the chatter picked back up. Across the table from him, a few seats down, was August. He hadn’t known August had been invited but he wasn’t surprised. There was no point saying anything. He wasn’t going to give August or his mother the satisfaction. He was simply going to ignore him. He ignored him in the dining hall at school, though at school, August sat further away. At school August wasn’t in his sight line. Wilhelm turned to Amalia, another second cousin who was seated next to him. They had never spoken much. Wilhelm had always thought of her as being a kid but tonight, with shimmering bronze eyeshadow and her hair braided ornately and pulled back in a loose bun, she could have been a peer. “You’re first on my dance card,” he said.

“Really?” Amalia said. Wilhelm took the crumpled list from his pocket and showed it to her. She laughed. “You actually have a list.”

“I didn’t make it. Strict orders. I’m not to be trusted otherwise.” Her eyebrows raised but she nodded. Amalia was easy to talk to. She also rode horses and was planning on attending Hillerska. While the dinner plates were cleared, Wilhelm glanced at August. He was blabbering on about his post Hillerska plans with Amalia’s father who nodded politely between scanning the table desperately for another conversation to join.   

His mother and father shared the first dance of the evening. Amalia appeared at his side. When the second song started and the Prime Minister cut in to replace his father, Wilhelm took Amalia’s hand and led her onto the dance floor. His dance card was long. Best to get started.

The crowd formed a circle around the center of the room and the dancers waltzed within its confines under the crystal chandelier. Wilhelm stumbled over Amalia’s feet before they had completed the first box step. She just smiled at him and kept going. He watched his feet after that. The diamond tiles shifted beneath him. It was dizzying. He blinked the shifting pattern away and lifted his chin before he lost all sense of space and orientation. Eyes surrounded him, pressed together tightly, leaving no angle unwatched. A pair of eyes leered out of the crowd, the whites too bright, the pupils too dark. August. Wilhelm spun away from his cousin and was met with the squinting glare of his mother. He could not blink them away. He could not react. He could not escape. He could only dance in their trap.

Wilhelm danced with the Prime Minister’s daughter next. The crowd slowly dissipated, the guests distracted by bubbling champagne or chocolate cake or taking to the dance floor themselves. Wilhelm scanned the room for his next dance partner, a family friend. August had her cornered by the armoured knight statue. He arms were crossed over her chest and she chased his sour words with champagne. Wilhelm pushed the hair back from his face crossed the room. He held out his hand for Maja.

“Wilhelm,” August said. “I was just telling Maja about-”

“Maja, would you care to dance with me?”

She smiled and handed her empty glass to August so she could clap her hand into Wilhelm’s. “Absolutely.”

They turned their backs on August and walked to the dance floor. The music picked up in tempo. “Oh good. A fox trot,” Maja said. “Waltzes are boring. Better than August but still.”

Wilhelm smiled. “You might have to lead. I’m not very good at fox trot.”

Maja nodded and planted her arm over his shoulder. His mother was no longer on the dance floor and August was still sulking in the corner. Wilhelm relaxed his shoulder under Maja’s grip.

The room grew hot as they danced and Wilhelm slipped into the hall after it was over to cool down.  Someone may have called his name but Wilhelm didn’t care to check. He wandered down the long, shadowy hall, away from the light and the music that flooded through the double doors. He loosened his tie and breathed to cooler air into his lungs. He checked his watch. It was ten thirty. An hour and a half hour to go.

Further down the hall, in one of the receiving rooms, a chair scraped across the floor. Curious, Wilhelm walked towards the sound. Moonlight streamed through the small gap left open in the doors. Wilhelm stepped into the blue glow. The door handle pressed against his stomach. Inside the room, silhouetted in front of the floor to ceiling window was his mother, huddled in his father’s arms, her shoulders shaking. She was crying. Wilhelm had never seen his mother cry. He looked back down the hall to the ballroom. Nothing bad had happened. Nothing had gone wrong. The dance floor was full. The champagne was flowing. The speech his father had made when they brought out the cake had earned laughter and applause.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Kristina said. She dabbed her palms against her eyes.

“There’s no need to apologize, darling.”

“I know. I know. It just seems wrong to celebrate a birthday when he won’t ever have another. In a few years Wilhelm will be older than Erik. I can’t imagine.”

Wilhelm covered his mouth with his hand and backed away from the door. Four years. In four years, Wilhelm would be the older brother. Wilhelm’s insides flipped. Everything was wrong. Another piece of his identity would be ripped away. All his life Wilhelm had turned to Erik for advice and guidance. He had felt lost the past four months without him. He wanted to ask Erik if Simon would ever forgive him. He wanted to ask Erik how to publicly re-address the video and the initial media statement. What did their parents actually think of August? What were their actual plans for him? How could he minimize August’s impact on his life as much as possible? These questions swirled in his mind with no where to go. But one day, in four years, in ten years, in twenty years, the questions would stop swirling. He would get the answers elsewhere. He wouldn’t keep trying to reach Erik because Erik wouldn’t know. Wilhelm’s life would move on and he would outgrow Erik’s life experience. Maybe it would be easier in four years – his head would be a little quieter – but now, it made him nauseous.

Wilhelm walked past the ballroom and climbed the stairs to the second floor two at a time. He clutched the banister at the top. He couldn’t breathe. His diaphragm jumped and jumped but couldn’t catch, couldn’t create a vacuum to suck in air. He made it to the corridor where their family’s apartments were. The boom knocked him off his feet. He stumbled sideways into the wall. He clutched his chest and slid to the floor. Another boom sounded. Gold light flooded the hall followed by pops of red. Fireworks. It was just fireworks. Guests would be gathered on the terrace off the ballroom, their eyes turned to the sky. The bright sparks were only temporary. The black sky swallowed the colours before they even reached the ground again. And the night air, previously cool and clear, was left smoky and smelling metallic of gun powder.

A soft knock and the creak of a door woke Wilhelm the next morning. He blinked in the unfamiliar surround. Tall walls. Tall windows. Tall wardrobe. Tall figure in the doorway. Erik? Wilhelm squinted and as his eyes refocused, wrinkles streaked through Erik’s skin and grey patches peppered his brown hair until he was no longer Erik. “Dad?” His voice scratched and made him sound more unsure of the man’s identity than he was.

“Sorry to wake you. I wanted to check in before you headed back to school.” His father was still in his flannel pyjama pants and a wash worn hoodie. He looked like Erik when he dressed casually. Or Erik looked like him. Wilhelm wondered if in time, the likeness would fade. His father stepped into the room and held out a cup of tea for Wilhelm. “You disappeared last night.”

“So did you. And mum.” Wilhelm sat up against his headboard and accepted the cup.

His father sat down on the edge of his bed. “She’s mourning. It comes in waves.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have thrown herself a birthday party.”

“You can’t hide from the world forever.”

Wilhelm scoffed. “Isn’t that what you made me do?”

“Wilhelm.” His dad squeezed his leg through the comforter. “Not forever. Never forever. Wille, please don’t ever think that.”

“What am I supposed to think?”

“Wille. It wasn’t about that – who you are or who you love. It was about the video. No parent could let their child go through that publicly. We had to put a stop to it.”

Wilhelm pulled his legs up to his chest, away from his father’s hand. “No one believes the statement.”

“I know.”

“I just look stupid and cowardly.”

“You’re not stupid and you’re not a coward. Wille, your bravery astounds me. We ask too much of you. Sweden asks too much of you. I couldn’t have handled it all at your age. Right now, it doesn’t matter what people believe. We’ve made an official statement and the gossip will move on by summer.”

“It’ll never go away. If I’m allowed to come out – because that will have to be a whole ordeal – it’ll resurface.” Wilhelm laughed, course and void of humour. “Oh my god. That’ll be it, won’t it. She’s going to use the tape resurfacing as an excuse to not let me be with who I want. And her goons have a copy of it no doubt. Watch her leak it again in five years to force me into marrying a woman to make it go away again-”

“Wilhelm.”

“-The video was kind of the best outcome for her.” Wilhelm’s lungs jumped. His head shook rapidly. Tea sloshed from his cup over his hand. “She probably orchestrated it.”

“Wilhelm. Stop.” His father reached for the cup. Wilhelm jerked away. His father paused. His hand hovered in the air. “Wille?” He sounded lost. “Look at me.” His hand wrapped around Wilhelm’s, stilling it. “You can’t possible think that? Your mother loves you. She would never do something that demonstrably cruel. Never. Wille, do you understand?” There were tears in his father’s eyes. He was scared.

Wilhelm nodded. He didn’t really believe the words he had said. They had just tumbled out. “She is cruel though,” he whispered. “She told me not to talk to Simon anymore. She threatened to pull me out of school.”

“Do you still talk to Simon?”

“Yes.”

“Has she pulled you out of school?”

“No.”

“Well.” His father pulled his hand back then and sat straighter. “Sounds like she over-reacted. She wanted to protect you. We both did. We don’t know Simon. We wondered how well you knew him. You’d only been at Hillerska three months. I mean no judgement by that. Teenagers, hormones, boarding school… I’m not sure what people expect. You don’t like the media. You don’t like public attention. You get anxious anytime you have to give a speech. If we allowed you to be with Simon publicly, all of that would spike. Can you handle that? Can you handle that not only for yourself but for him as well? To us, it seemed like a bad idea. Wilhelm, you hadn’t told us about him or that you were gay. We didn’t know if you’d had time to process that yourself. We couldn’t throw you out there with all that and the video. I don’t know. If you had been older, Erik’s age, maybe it would have been different. You wouldn’t have been a child. If you had been with Simon for a few years and known him better. And we knew him and his intentions… maybe we could have gone about this differently.”

“Maybe you could have given me a choice. You never asked about any of it.”

“Would it have been fair to force that choice on you? That was traumatizing. You can claim coercion this way. And beyond that, it’s easy to get wrapped up in relationships when you’re young. It’s easy to get blinded by it. Your mother had a teenage romance. I knew the guy. He was good looking. Better looking than me. He came from a high-ranking family. He knew how to turn on the charm. They dated for a year or so while she ignored all the red flags. He was weaseling his way through school, not doing any work. He was drinking his way into an addiction. He was cheating on her from day one. She honestly had no idea at the beginning but then she started making excuses because she was too caught up in that first image she had of him. Friends and family knew they were a couple. Ending it was embarrassing. But the media didn’t know. The public didn’t know. Your mother’s a smart woman. She’s strong and pragmatic and eventually she had enough. And when she ended it, that was that. There were no tabloids chasing him down, offering cash for scandal. He’s disappeared completely from her life. If the relationship had been public, the media would drag him and his moronic and intrusive sound bites out of the weeds every few years.”

“Simon’s not like that.”

His father smiled. “Good.” The word was genuine, not skeptical. “You deserve it, Wille. You’re a good kid. I’m incredibly proud of you. This country is lucky to have to you.”

His father pulled him forward into a hug. His arms squeezed tight. It wasn’t some curtesy or obligation. It felt real.

It wasn’t yet ten when Wilhelm got in the car to return to school. The roads were clear and the car lulled him to sleep. He woke as the car stopped at a red light in Bjarstad. The crossroad led to Simon’s neighbourhood. Wilhelm wondered what Simon was doing. Combating a false flag operation in a video game? Working on his history project? Struggling with math problems? Or maybe not struggling? Hanging out with Ayub and Rosh? Dodging calls from his father? Maybe next year, Wilhelm wouldn’t have to wonder. Maybe next year, he could stop at Simon’s before returning to school and they could slip down the hall to his room and Simon would ask how the royal stuff went and Wilhelm would vent and Simon would sooth his frustrations with warm brown eyes and then with cuddles and then with kisses and then maybe with more.   

The light turned green and the car pulled through the intersection. Wilhelm looked down the crossroad as they passed. Not maybe. Not maybe next year. Next year. Simon wasn’t a fling. Simon wasn’t a moron wholly unsuited for any relationship never mind one with a head of state. He was smart and brave and selfless and empathetic. Kristina was naïve when she was a teenager. She was fooled by attention and a pretty face. She assumed Wilhelm would make the same mistakes because she regarded herself so highly that she thought it impossible for anyone else to do better, especially not him – her younger son who was too quiet, too anxious, too lost and unsure. He wasn’t the younger son anymore. He was the son. The heir. And he loved Simon. That, he was sure of.

Wilhelm settled for a text as the car turned onto the road that wound around the lake.  
How was rowing practise? Did I miss anything exciting?

He dropped the phone onto the seat after hitting send and leaned his head back on headrest. The car pulled up to the school and he collected his bag and walked to his dorm. He checked his phone. No reply.

He shoved the phone under his pillow and opened his laptop and history textbook. The World War II project was due the following Monday. He had been mulling over topics, avoiding the one that crept back up when he began researching anything else. He couldn’t hide from it forever. The pink was too bright and the triangle points, too sharp.

“Fuck.” 

At the top of a new word document, Wilhelm typed: The Persecution of Gay Men in Nazi Germany.

Several things had stood out during the cursory research he had already done. Though homosexuality was illegal in Germany prior to 1933, gay communities were thriving in larger cities. The Nazis quickly put this to an end. They started from within. Ernst Rohm, an early leader of the Nazi Party was arrested and executed on June 30^th, 1934 for several reasons, his homosexuality being one of them. Arrest and conviction rates of homosexuality increased a tenfold in the years leading up to war. When war was declared the standard punishment for any man convicted of more than one homosexual act was internment in a concentration camp after the prison sentence was served. Men could avoid concentration camps if they agreed to castration instead. In the camps they would be identified with a pink triangle. There was no community solidarity in the camps for gay men. They were isolated due to the homophobia of other prisoners. Some were targeted for human experimentation aimed at changing their sexuality and many died as a result.

It was the end of the war that struck Wilhelm the most though. Allied troops did not free the prisoners wearing pink triangles. The gay men were transferred from concentration camps to civilian prisons because ultimately, the wider world agreed with Hitler and the Nazi regime. Gay men were sick, child molesters, and their homosexuality was contagious. They belonged in prison. They were not entitled to reparation payments awarded to other concentration camp survivors. They were not victims.

That was devastating.

Wilhelm worked until four. The sun was low and his eyes strained in the dimming surround coupled with the harsh light of his laptop. He hit ctl+s three times to be safe and closed the screen. He flopped from the desk chair to the bed and dug out his phone.

Simon had texted him back.
I had a decent partner for once. Managed to complete the course. Unlike last week.
How was the palace?

Wilhelm smiled.
I’ll have to request one of those decent partners.
Palace was fine. Wasn’t locked in a tower. Wasn’t promised to some foreign princess.

Simon:
Definitely. They don’t even splash you with freezing lake water.
Did you just get back?

Wilhelm:
But do they wear cool gloves? That might be a deal breaker.
No, I got back at noon. I’ve been working on the history project.

Simon:
No. They don’t wear gloves. That’s why they don’t splash. They have a proper grip on the oars.
Topic?

Wilhelm:
Debatable. They surely have calloused hands though. My hands passed the Queen’s inspection. Perfectly smooth.
It’s a surprise.

Simon:
Maybe I like the callouses.
Why?

Wilhelm reread the text chain. Simon was flirting, surely. That had to be a good sign. Maybe I like the callouses. Jesus. There was only one way to read that.

Wilhelm:
Maybe I like surprises.

He closed his eyes unsure if he wanted to calm down or let his imagination run further. Simon liked the idea of rough and weathered hands. Strong. Manly. Proper grip. On his body. On his bare skin where it was velvety and soft.

Wilhelm’s eyes flew open to the window. There was no one there. It was just trees.

He pushed his hair back and breathed in deep. His heart was beating fast, neither calm nor in the mood. Fuck.

“Wilhelm.” Felice stopped him after science on Monday. “We’re doing homework in the common room. You should come.”

“Oh. I was just going to um..”

“Going to what?”

Wilhelm looked down at his shoes. “Nothing, I guess.”

“You’re coming.” Felice grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the classroom and down the hall. Madison waved them over to a table and Felice shoved him towards a chair. “Sit.”

Wilhelm did as he was told. He wasn’t entirely sure he had a choice. Sara looked up at him from across the table. “Hey,” he said with a small smile and a half wave. She looked back at her notebook.  

Madison patted the empty chair beside her. “Malin, if you change your mind…”

Malin nodded in acknowledgement but kept her post by the door.

“You never stop, do you?” Felice said.

Madison shrugged. “I’m being polite.”  

As Wilhelm pulled his books out of his backpack, Simon walked in. Gunnar followed him. Wilhelm froze, ready to slide his books back in his bag and flee. Simon caught his eye. The were brown and warm. The corner of his lips pulled up in a small smile. Relax. It’s okay. You can stay. We’re good. Wilhelm smiled back and placed his science textbook on the table. Felice was eyeing him. Her eyes flicked to Simon and then back to him. She wasn’t the only one. The stares from the other students weren’t as teasingly friendly. Other students were looking for gossip. Kids they had class with or the boys on the rowing team were used to seeing him and Simon interact at this point. Or not interact. To others though, it was still novel.

Wilhelm glanced back to Simon. He had sat down and taken out his homework. His jaw was tight. He was aware. He was ignoring it.

“Wilhelm, what did you put for the first equation? Decomposition?” Felice tapped her pencil on her work sheet.

Wilhelm looked down at his own, away from the eyes of others. “Combustion/oxidation.”

He had completed the first side of the worksheet when August walked in. Wilhelm turned his head to him and fixed his glare. August was not welcome. August stopped suddenly, caught mid step. He shuffled his books from his left hand to his right. His head twitched around the room, lost.

“August.”

Someone at the table behind Wilhelm called him over. Wilhelm sat up straighter and raised a don’t-you-dare eyebrow.

August ducked his head directly into Gunnar and Simon. He jerked away and turned around. Malin took a half step forward and gestured him back into the hall. He scurried out of sight, like the oversized rat he was, back to his hovel under the bridge on the lake path.

Wilhelm exhaled. He planted his elbows on the table and leaned his head forward into his hands. He combed his hair back as he slowed his breathing. He peaked over at Simon. Simon peaked around Gunnar back at him.

The table thumped under him. Sara’s chair squealed as she pushed it back. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Thanks for the announcement,” Madison said. Felice slapped her arm. “What?”  

Wilhelm turned back to Simon but he had turned away. He was watching Sara as she walked out into the hall.

After class on Friday, Wilhelm joined Felice and Madison at the stable. Mr. Claesson had set up a jumping course during their Wednesday lesson. It was first course used at last year’s competition. There were twelve jumps. They had eighty seconds to complete the course with no faults.

Wilhelm had Beau pick up a canter and approached the first jump. It was a simple oxer that Beau jumped with ease. The course wound in gentle S pattern up the ring over jumps two, three, four, and five. The course then doubled back on itself in a tight, 160 degree turn to jump six, a triple combination that required both speed and control. He took it tight, pulling Beau in. Beau stretched his front legs up and over the first set of rails but lost momentum by the third. His jump was stuttered and his hooves knocked the top rail to the ground. Wilhelm pushed him forward back down the ring, over seven and eight. There was another tight 270 degree turn to nine then a straight shot to ten and a gentle turn over eleven and then twelve. Eleven was a double combination. It was higher than six. He clicked his tongue and felt Beau’s strides open beneath him. He sored over the first set of rails but landed too close the second set and Beau didn’t have the space to clear them. In total there were four lead changes. The stopwatch beeped as Beau landed clean out of twelve.

“Eighty-seven,” Madison said.

Wilhelm checked Erik’s watch. “Two faults.” He patted Beau’s neck. “No refusals though.”

Madison tossed him the stopwatch and took Kaiser down to the jump one. She finished at ninety-one seconds with four faults.

“You’re up,” Wilhelm said to Felice.

“No. You can go.”

“What?”

“We all know I have no shot at this.”

“So? Who cares? Take your turn. You’ve been getting better and jumping’s fun.”

“Fine.”

Rousseau cantered for Felice without fuss and cleared jumps one through five. She turned him hard towards six but he stayed wide. The angle was wonky and Rousseau slowed to a trot and wandered past the jump.

Felice laughed and Madison raised her hands in the air. “You got five!”

“I got five. That’s the most I’ve gotten all year.”

Wilhelm smiled and tossed her the stopwatch. He took the turn out of five wider this time so he could keep more speed. He lined Beau up and felt him spot it. Instead of him urging Beau forward, Beau was pulling him. Simon walked into the ring then, down at the end. Wilhelm snapped his eyes back to the combination. He stood and Beau jumped. Land. Stride. Jump. Land. Stride. Jump. Land. Stride out towards seven. Towards Simon. The rhythm was intoxicating. Wilhelm leaned into it and leaned up.

Beau stopped dead. Wilhelm tumbled out of the saddle, out of the stirrups, over Beau’s neck, and down into the rail.

Chapter Text

Wilhelm blinked up at the rafters as his name echoed through them. Footsteps rushed towards him. Beau dropped his head and nuzzled at Wilhelm’s cheek. He was warm and persistent. Wilhelm turned and pressed a kiss to Beau’s nose. “I’m okay,” he mumbled. “I’m okay.”

“Prince Wilhelm! Are you hurt?” Malin shouted.

But it was Simon who got to him first and knelt by his feet. “Wille. Shit. Are you okay?”

Wilhelm shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t move your head, sir,” Malin said, crowding beside Simon.

“I heard a crack,” Simon said.

Wilhelm’s wrist vibrated. He held it up. The face of Erik’s watch was smashed. He turned his wrist to show Simon. Simon didn’t say anything. He put his hand out to slow Wilhelm when he sat up against Malin’s protests. “I’m okay, really. Promise.” Simon retracted his hands and stuffed them in his pockets.

Wilhelm ran a finger over the watch face. The fracture lines were raised and sharp against his skin. He shouldn’t have worn it riding. He shouldn’t have been so careless. It was one of the few pieces of Erik left and it was a piece that was all his, that he didn’t have to share with the world. He didn’t deserve it. Erik should have been buried with it. It would have been safe with him, the mature, responsible, dependable, older brother. Wilhelm unlatched it and slipped it in his jacket pocket. 

Madison and Felice got to him then. Madison pulled Beau’s reigns over his head and led him away leaving Wilhelm’s cheek cold. Felice held out her hand, helped him stand, and brushed the mulch off his back. Beau neighed and hoofed at the ground.

“He’s okay. Come here.” Wilhelm said and Madison handed the reigns back to him. Wilhelm pulled Beau close. Beau felt guilty and Wilhelm could have cried. He would have if they were alone. It was his own fault. He knew what Beau needed from him and he allowed himself to be distracted. Careless.

“Are you sure you’re okay, sir? Did you hit your head?” Malin asked.

“Head’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve fallen before.”

“You going to get back on?” Madison asked.

“Yeah.” Wilhelm nodded. He led Beau to the mounting block. Malin followed. She was too close and too alert. She was observing him. Waiting for him to collapse once the shock and adrenalin wore off.

“See all the fun you’re missing,” Madison said.

“Yeah, no thanks,” Simon said. “That was a long way down. I’ll leave the horses to Sara. Where is she, by the way?”

“Not here,” Felice said.

“She said she was.” Simon pulled out his phone. “She told me to pick her up from the stable when I was done with math.”

“We haven’t seen her all afternoon. Did she go home?”

“No, she texted me half an hour ago. She would have told me.”

“Is she in the stable?” Wilhelm asked.

“Didn’t see her when I walk in.”

“Check again, maybe?”

Simon walked out of the ring towards the stable. Wilhelm slipped his right foot in the stirrup and swung his left leg over Beau’s back.

“It might be best to take it easy, sir,” Malin said. Her voice was quiet so Madison and Felice couldn’t hear.

Wilhelm nodded. “We’ll see how it goes. You gotta get back on the horse.” He clicked his tongue and Beau stepped forward. He flexed his fingers on the reigns and rolled his shoulders back. He night air blew through the ring. His skin was clammy. The adrenalin sweat was cooling. His muscles stiffened with each step Beau took. Malin was probably right but he couldn’t take Beau back to his stall and leave him alone for the night without resolution. That would be cruel. After walking half a lap, Wilhelm eased Beau into a trot and then a canter.

Simon walked back into the ring then. His head was down in his phone.

“Was she there?” Felice asked.

Simon shook his head. “No. She’s not answering her phone.”

Wilhelm steered Beau to Simon and pulled him to a halt. Madison and Felice followed. “Do you think she’s with your dad?” Wilhelm asked.

“No. She hates him.” Simon frowned. “Fuck. I don’t know.”

Wilhelm hopped off Beau. Jumping would have to wait. “Maybe that’s why she didn’t say anything.”

Simon stared at his phone but his eyes were unfocused. He scrolled through his contacts to Micke but then shook his head and scrolled back up to Mama and hit call. He followed Wilhelm back into the stable as the phone rang. Tack down was quick and quiet. Linda confirmed Sara hadn’t gone home and was on her way to the school.

“Could she be seeing someone?” Madison asked.

“She hasn’t mentioned it,” Simon said.

“Would she mention it? To you? No offence.”

“Yes. I think so. I told her about Wille. She demanded it.”

Wilhelm bit back a smile. It wasn’t the time.

“Oh,” Madison said, her eyes flicking back and forth between him and Simon. “So we’re not pretending this wasn’t a thing anymore?”

“Not the time, Maddie.” Felice said. “Sara hasn’t said anything to me either.”

Simon’s phone chimed. “Not her.”  

“Okay. Let’s go check the dorms. Maybe she’s just hanging out with someone,” Wilhelm said.

“Who?” Simon bit.

Maybe Wilhelm should have frowned or flinched at Simon’s harsh tone but again he found himself biting back a smile. Simon wasn’t angry. He was worried. He was the protective brother anyone would wish to have – that Wilhelm wished to have – that Wilhelm used to have. He loved that about Simon. “I don’t know who. But she’s not here so…”

Simon nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

The four of them, plus Malin, walked back to the dorms. The girls went right to the girl’s hall, Simon and Wilhelm went left to the boy’s. Henry’s door was open. Wilhelm knocked on the frame. “Hey. Have you-”

“Hi Wilhelm.”

“Hi. Have you seen Sara at all?”

Henry’s smile dropped. “Oh. Uh…”

“What?” Simon demanded.

Henry looked at the wall then down at his shoes. “She walked by with August a while ago. To his room.”

“What?” Simon said.

“Are you sure?” Wilhelm asked.

“Uh… I don’t know. Maybe not a hundred percent but…well yeah.”

Simon was gone, halfway down the hall before Wilhelm noticed. He immediately went for the handle and pushed his shoulder into the door but it was locked. Wilhelm caught up with him and pounded his fist on the door. Nothing. Simon pounded the door again.

“I’m a bit busy at the moment,” August called for the other side of the door.  

“No one gives a shit,” Simon said. “Where’s Sara?”

“I don’t know what you’re taking about.”

“Bullshit. Sara, Mama’s on her way to pick us up.” Simon pounded on the door again. “I’m not leaving until-”

The door swung open then. Sara glared at her brother. Her cheeks were flushed, and half her hair had pulled free from her ponytail. Her fingers worked quickly on the top three buttons of her cardigan, covering up the low-cut tank top underneath. Wilhelm looked away. His eyes landed on August, who towered behind Sara, and the smirk on his face. The picture was clear and it was vile.

“What are you doing,” Sara hissed at Simon.

“What am I doing?” Simon’s eyes shot wide.

“You’re making a scene.” Sara said.

Wilhelm looked back down the hall. Several boys had poked their heads out of their rooms.

“Let’s go then.”

Sara grabbed her backpack and pushed past both Simon and Wilhelm. “I owe you an apology, Wille,” August said. “Slumming it has its appeals. Erik would have been proud.”

Wilhelm swung his fist into August’s face. August stumbled back and Wilhelm stepped towards him and swung again. His heart raced and pumped boiling blood through his veins. It exploded from his knuckles and spilled from August’s nose, hot and red. The pain in his hand was sharp. It was the best pain he’d ever felt. He wanted more and he fought the arms that pulled him away.

“Wilhelm! Stop. You’re going to get in trouble.” Leo dragged him into the hall and Malin jumped in front of August.

“Stay,” she told him. She backed out of his room and pulled the door closed.

Wilhelm stared in Malin’s direction, but he didn’t see her navy-blue jacket or the white door behind her. He saw August, cowering under his fist. The image was burned into his retina.

Malin placed a hand on his shoulder and nudged him further down the hall to his room. “Wilhelm. Go.”

He blinked and turned. Simon. Simon huddled against the wall. His arm shook as his fingers clawed the decorative molding. His eyes were dark and his bottom lip trembled. He was scared. He was scared of Wilhelm and the violence that had erupted from him. Simon grew up in a house with an addict. Simon had said that when Micke was high and mad, he’d have a go at anything in his reach. Wilhelm didn’t know the extent of that reach but he could imagine. He could imagine twelve-year-old, eight-year-old, four-year-old Simon huddled in a corner of his room, shielding his head when Micke hurled a video game controller at him, yelling something about the game being too loud.

Wilhelm shook his head. No. No, he wasn’t a violent person. He wasn’t like that.

Simon’s phone chimed. “I’ve got to go,” he mumbled and pushed past Wilhelm and Leo and Malin and the other boys who crowded the hall.

Wilhelm dropped his head and hurried to his room. His mind raced and he paced back and forth through each thought. He wasn’t a violent person, but he was building an unfortunate track record that indicated otherwise. It wasn’t fair. Simon would never want to be with him now. He could be expelled. August wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t dare. Wilhelm had the video. The other students wouldn’t say anything either. They had no reason to. They couldn’t have recorded any of it. It was too quick. Wilhelm had stepped into August’s room. They would have been out of view. But not out Simon’s view. Fuck. Simon. Holy shit. Sara was hanging out with August. She was dating him? Sleeping with him? Wilhelm’s stomach churned. It was vile. August clearly had dubious morals regarding sex and consent. He didn’t respect her. Slumming it. What did he want with her? Was it just another way to tare at her brother? That would kill Simon. It killed Wilhelm.

There was a knock on his door. “Prince Wilhelm.” Malin. Was she going to admonish him? Was she going to tell him that legally, she had to inform the administration? Or had to inform the Queen?

He touched the handle and recoiled. His hand was swollen and pain pulsed through his wrist, up his arm. He had damaged both hands in one night. Took a jump rail to one and a troll’s face to the other. He took a breath and winced as he reached again for the handle and opened the door.

Malin mirrored his wince with her own and handed him an ice pack. “For your hand. Or hands? I brought one to August for his face. You’re a bit of a troublemaker. Keeping me on my toes.” The hallway was empty now and she spoke quietly.

“I don’t mean to be.”

“I know.” Malin smiled. “I’ll have dinner brought to you. Best to keep a low profile for a bit.”  

“Could you not tell my mum?” Wilhelm asked. “About August. Or that I fell. I don’t want her to overreact.”

“That wouldn’t be keeping a low profile now, would it sir?”

“No,” Wilhelm smiled in thanks and shut the door. The ice numbed the pain. He sat down on his bed, leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and let the ice sooth.

His phone chimed. It was Felice.
What happened?

Wilhelm didn’t even know.

He tapped Simon’s name. He needed to say something but what? He typed and deleted and settled on:
I’m sorry things got out of hand. I didn’t mean to explode. Are you okay?

Simon:
Don’t worry about it.

Wilhelm:
Are you okay?

Simon didn’t respond right away. He didn’t respond after five minutes, after ten minutes, after half an hour. Malin knocked again with a bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. The ice pack had melted and the condensation had dampened the sleeve cuff of his jumper. He rubbed at the itchy skin underneath then pulled off the jumper and pulled on his navy polo hoodie. He sat down at his desk to eat. He had been eating in the dining hall recently. The table was long enough that he could ignore August’s presence on the end. Now he trapped back in his room. Everything was wrong again. Not that it had managed to re-right it. And not that he wanted to eat with everyone else and field questions about Simon and Sara and August. His eyes jumped around his room. His laptop was playing a YouTube video, the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in world, is not connected to Dubai’s sewer system. The building claims to be the heart of the city and its people and yet literally cannot deal with its own shit. The green frog prince was washed grey by the red fairy lights strung above his bed. The light caught in the cracks in Erik’s watch face like blood oozing from a cut. His rowing gloves sat on top of the radiator. There was a crack in the curtains. The windowpane was black. His phone was quiet. Simon still hadn’t answered his text. The sandwich was cold.

A door slammed shut in the hallway and Wilhelm jumped in his seat. His eyes had darted to his door. It vibrated in the frame but remained sturdy. Wilhelm blew out a breath.  

He set the sandwich back on the plate. He leaned back in the chair and pulled the curtain across the gap. He opened his text thread with Simon.

Still no response.

Wilhelm set his phone back down on the desk. He chewed at a hang nail until it stung and then dropped his reddened finger to the condensation puddle forming around the discarded ice pack. The cool water soothed but stagnant water harboured many dangers.

Wilhelm pushed himself up. He shoved his feet into his sneakers and his arms in his jacket. He pushed the curtain aside and the window open. Rain pattered steadily through the trees and onto the grass. He stepped onto the chair and climbed onto the windowsill. He had one leg out, the cuff of the jeans wet and beginning to cling to his ankle, when he stopped and looked back at the door.

Malin didn’t seem too bothered by him punching August. She would be bothered if he snuck off school grounds without her. He had promised. Malin would just have to come along.

He climbed back inside, shut the window, crossed the room, and pulled open the door. “Simon!” he startled. Simon stood on the other side. His hand was raised as if he were about to knock. He did not lower it. Instead, he pushed it into Wilhelm’s chest and pushed him back into the room. His fingers and palm drove between Wilhelm’s open jacket and pressed firm against his hoodie. Simon kicked the door closed and pushed Wilhelm until the back of his legs hit the bed and then he pushed him down so he could climb onto Wilhelm’s lap. He slid his hand up Wilhelm’s chest, over his shoulder and pushed his jacket off.

“Why are you wearing a jacket?”

“Why aren’t you?” Wilhelm said. His own hands slid up Simon’s legs to where his purple hoodie pooled around his waist. The top half of the hoodie looked black, soaked from the rain.

Simon gripped his thighs around Wilhelm’s own. His body was heavy and warm on top of Wilhelm, in front of him, all around him. But his hands were cold. Wilhelm flinched under the initial touch of Simon’s fingertips, up above the collar of his hoodie at the base of his neck. As Simon slipped his fingers up into Wilhelm’s hair though, the cold began to sooth. There was something about implication, that Simon had trekked through the near freezing rain back to the school, back to Wilhelm and Wilhelm leaned his head back into the touch.

Simon followed and seized on Wilhelm’s lips with his own. The kiss was hungry. Simon’s lips were as cold as his fingers, and they sucked the heat from Wilhelm’s mouth. Droplets of water dripped from Simon’s sodden curls and ran down Wilhelm’s cheeks and neck. His imagination ran – Simon fresh from the pool, shirtless, the summer sun warming his golden skin, his swim trunks just a little shorter and a little brighter than Wilhelm would ever dare to wear, straddling him on a deck chair – Simon fresh from the shower, shrouded in steam and low hanging towel that he shucked before straddling Wilhelm on the bed. Blood rushed south. Wilhelm tensed his thighs to keep his hips still but he opened his mouth, eager to give Simon anything and everything and take whatever Simon was willing to give.

It wasn’t soft like Wilhelm remembered. It wasn’t tentative and sweet. No, it was fraught and urgent. Simon’s nose was crushed against Wilhelm’s left cheek and then scraped across his own nose and crushed into his right cheek. Simon’s breath was heavy and choppy. He was desperate. He needed this. And that scared Wilhelm.

His eyes flicked to the window. The curtains were wide open. It was dark outside. He couldn’t anything except the black hole abys. Anyone could be there. Anyone could see in.  

Wilhelm unslotted their lips. “Simon.” Simon chased his lips back down. “Hey. Wait, wait a minute.”

Simon snapped back. His hands fell from Wilhelm’s hair. He looked horrified? Angry? His eyes were wide. His brows were knotted. His lips were downturned. His lips – pink, swollen, soft and pillowy, shiny and wet – god, he was gorgeous but he was slipping away again. Simon shifted in Wilhelm’s lap. Wilhelm pushed his fingers under Simon’s hoodie and his t-shirt to his skin to get a better grip. He worried about leaving fingerprint bruises but he panicked at the thought of Simon walking away from this, from him, and never looking back because the pain was too much. Wilhelm couldn’t again be the cause of Simon’s pain. He wanted to sooth Simon, to hold him close and make it all better – fix both before and whatever was happening now.      

Simon pulled out of his grip and pushed off his lap. He backed up until he hit the desk. His eyes jumped away. They landed first on the discarded ice pack then the black window. “Jesus. Your curtain’s wide open.”

It was morbid but there was something settling about knowing the trauma was something they shared. Wilhelm stood to close the curtain and Simon shifted away. “I uh.. Yeah, I usually have them closed. I opened them because I was sneaking out actually. To see you. You weren’t answering my texts and I was worried.”

Simon stood against the wall near the door. He nodded. “Jacket.”

Wilhelm nodded back. “What happened?”

“Sara knew.” Simon lifted his eyes off the floor to Wilhelm. “When you told me it was August, I didn’t tell anyone. Mama would’ve wanted to go to the police or the school and I knew we couldn’t and it would have been a whole thing. But after all that,” Simon gestured vaguely to the hallway and August’s room. “I told Sara. She needed to know. And I felt guilty for not telling her before, like I was setting her up somehow. But no. She already knew. She watched him do it. She saw him in the library uploading the video. She didn’t know what he was doing at the time but as soon as your palace goons confiscated the computer, she knew. She knew and she didn’t say anything. She decided to sleep with him instead. Like she’s expecting to invite him over for Sunday dinner. Into my house. She’s expecting me to sit next to him."

Wilhelm suddenly imagined bringing Simon as his date to his mother’s birthday and him being sat next to August. That would be their foreseeable future. It felt different somehow, in the details. Simon wouldn’t be alone. Wilhelm would be by his side. The state dinning hall wasn’t Simon’s home. It was hardly Wilhelm’s. It was all formality. No one was really trying to play happy family with August in the palace. There was just outside expectation that he continue to be a part of the family. Wilhelm’s mother was just staying the course – her one and only true job. Sara though… Wilhelm couldn’t process what Sara was doing. He didn’t know how Simon was supposed to.

Simon leaned his head back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. “I had this thought that maybe my house could be an escape for you. For us. Where we could relax and be safe and comfortable and normal. I’m so stupid.” Simon rocked forward, then back and thudded his head into the wall. “I’m so stupid.” Thud. Thud. Thud.

Wilhelm stepped around the desk chair. He stepped up in front of Simon. He didn’t want to push. He didn’t want Simon to feel trapped. Simon had raised his palms and pressed them against his eyes. Wilhelm knew all too well of the desire to black out the world that never ceased in its cruelty, to push back against it, push and push until his retina short circuited in small bursts of bright white. His mother had told him to stop once, that he was damaging his eyes.

Simon’s eyes were too pretty to be damaged. They were striking from any distance, big and dark. There was no hesitation in their gaze. And in those moments when Simon had allowed Wilhelm close – those few seconds at the piano, that morning in his room, that evening in Simon’s, those days before it all fell apart, the last few where they huddled together in attempt to prevent the inevitable – Wilhelm had seen the flecks of gold and the warm amber ring.

Wilhelm raised his hands to Simon’s shoulders. He hesitated. A minute ago, his fingers had been dug into Simon’s waist but that wasn’t real. That was some desperate escape into a fantasy because reality had proven too cruel. This was now that cruel reality where he had laid Simon out, splayed him open and vulnerable for the world to consume, and then turned his back and ran.

Wilhelm swallowed. He pressed his fingers to Simon’s shoulders and then his palms. “Simon. You’re not stupid. You would do anything to protect your sister. You should be able to expect the same in return. She’s the stupid one. She’s so lucky to have you – so, so lucky.”

Simon dropped his hands from his eyes and looked at Wilhelm. His lips parted as if he was going to say something but he stopped himself. The anger had dissipated for a moment. He understood that Wilhelm knew what Sara had.  

“And she threw it all away.”

Simon stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket. He dropped his eyes and nodded. He took a breath and looked back up, rolling his eyes somewhere over his Wilhelm’s right shoulder. “She’s not stupid. She has Asperger’s.” The anger returned. The words once snapped in defense were now tainted with resentment. “I’m stupid. I texted Micke. Before we found her. He showed up at the house. He was high and wouldn’t leave. Mama was yelling at him and he turned around and told her I took his drugs. Mama asked why and what I did with them. If I was smart I would’ve said I flushed them but I was mad so I told her the truth, that I gave them to August. Mama was pissed. I’m going to be grounded for life. This all somehow got turned around on me. I couldn’t deal with it.”

“Simon. I’m so sorry. About everything.”

Simon flicked his eyes to Wilhelm’s. Tears pooled within them, drowning the gold flecks and warping the amber ring. Wilhelm wrapped his arms around Simon’s back and Simon fell off the wall into his chest. Simon’s hands were still buried in his pocket. They pressed awkwardly between them, lumpy and hard against Wilhelm’s stomach. Simon didn’t remove them to hug Wilhelm back but he didn’t pull away either. He tucked his head under Wilhelm’s chin.

They stood like that for a minute, Wilhelm holding Simon. He was smaller than Wilhelm remembered. His breath warmed against Wilhelm’s neck. It was shaky at first but began to steady. The rain picked up and drummed against the window silencing the other students and the creaky floorboards and the heavy doors. It was so simple like this when it was just them.

It was faint, through several layers of fabric, but Wilhelm felt Simon’s fingers stroke his stomach. He mimicked the motion along the ridges of Simon’s spine – a silent acknowledgement of the sweet, I’m glad to be here with you, touch.

Simon lifted his head. His eyes drifted over Wilhelm’s left shoulder, to the bed. “I uh… I don’t know what all that was,” he said.

Wilhelm shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Sara gave me such a hard time when we were together. She said I was letting you walk all over me. It got to me. I stand by what I said but I don’t know… just, how dare she accuse you of anything when she’s been hooking up with him. I’m supposed to stand up to you but be okay with her. She was so self righteous about me being proud of who I am or whatever. How am I supposed to be proud when she’s playing house with the person who has made me feel more shame than I could ever imagine. It's so manipulative. And maybe I don’t want to be proud. Maybe I want a boyfriend. Maybe I want the fucking fairy tale. And I just snapped or… I don’t know. I shouldn’t…” Simon sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Wilhelm scrunched his nose. “I’m not much of a fairy tale.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” It stung. Wilhelm had learned early on that people – girls – looked at him and saw a crown, saw a Disney animation, saw hundreds of years of myths and legends. They didn’t see him. Wilhelm never wanted to be a symbol to the nation but to be one within a relationship, a marriage, that would crush him. Simon saw him though. Wilhelm knew that. And that sting was nothing compared to the knife that had been stabbed through Simon’s back. “It’s fine. I promise. I really admire how out and confident you are. I never thought I could be out like that before I met you. But, I don’t know, I think I could now. I know the pressure that comes with being the poster boy for something though. Trust me. Sometimes you just snap. It’s fine.”

Simon’s eyes had drifted back to him. He nodded and then the corner of his lips curled up. “I don’t mean to flip flop or whatever… I’ll leave that to you.”

Wilhelm groaned and hung his head on Simon’s shoulder. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Simon turned his head into Wilhelm’s and nodded. He pressed a kiss into Wilhelm’s hair. It was soft. Maybe Wilhelm imagined it. That didn’t stop him from pressing a soft kiss to Simon’s forehead, burying his nose briefly in his damp hair, before he pulled away completely.

“Did you want to crash here tonight? Malin can give you a ride home. Or wherever. But you can stay. If you want.”

“I’m not going home,” Simon said.

“Then stay. You can always stay.” Simon’s eyes were muddied. The tears had churned up the gold flecks and the amber ring. Wilhelm’s chest panged. Simon had just lost everyone. He’d run back to Wilhelm after declaring he wouldn’t and Simon wasn’t one to go back on his word. Wilhelm couldn’t fuck this up. Not again. Not now. He couldn’t let Simon regret this. He would never forgive himself. “Do you want some dry clothes?” Wilhelm turned to his dresser before Simon answered. He pulled out a pair of dark grey sweatpants and his Hillerska hoodie. The items were neutral and nondescript. Everyone had a school hoodie. No one would know that Simon was wearing Wilhelm’s. No one but them.

Simon took the clothes and toed off his shoes.

Wilhelm busied himself with the laptop on the desk and tried to ignore the sounds of clothes rustling behind him. “You want to watch something?”

“Sure.” Simon’s voice was muffled through fabric.

“Any suggestions?”

“I really don’t care. I just don’t want to think about anything anymore.”

“Right.”

It got quiet again and Wilhelm took that as a sign it was safe to turn around. Simon still stood where he’d left him, by the wall near the door. The Hillerska hoodie was too big on him. The shoulder seams hung down near his bicep. He had rolled the sleave cuffs over a couple times. He hadn’t bothered with the hems of the sweatpant legs which were tucked under the heals of his white socks. If others saw him, maybe they would suspect. Wilhelm couldn’t bring himself to care. God, he just wanted to snuggle him.

Wilhelm transferred the laptop and the charging cable from the desk to the bed. He toed off his own shoes and quickly pulled off his jeans. “Is this okay?” The bed. The boxers.

Simon rolled his eyes. “Yes. It’s okay.”

“Okay.” Wilhelm climbed onto the bed and sat up against the pillows. He pulled the blanket up over his legs and sat the laptop on top. Simon sat down beside him. The small bed forced their legs and shoulders to brush together. It was like movie night back in October, neither wanting to move away, but also hesitant to cuddle closer. It didn’t take long though for the balance to tip. When Simon shuffled down a bit, Wilhelm brought his arm up and around him and Simon rolled into his chest. Wilhelm smiled into Simon’s hair. Maybe one day they could skip the initial stiff, propped upright, barley touching stage and fall straight into this entanglement of limbs. Simon twisted his finger around the draw string on Wilhelm’s hoodie and Wilhelm twisted his finger through Simon’s curls.

Simon started falling asleep during the fourth episode of Ted Lasso. Wilhelm had picked it in a rush. Simon hadn’t complained. He let the episode finish before closing the laptop. “Sleep,” he whispered.

Simon nodded and they rearranged. Wilhelm leaned over him to place the laptop on the floor and turn off the red fairy lights. He caught Simon’s eyes following him before he flicked the switch and the room went dark. He laid back down, on his side of the bed. Simon found his hand and pulled Wilhelm around him.

“Wille,” Simon whispered.

“Yeah.”

Simon didn’t say anything. It wasn’t a question. He pulled Wilhelm’s right hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. They were tender and so were his lips.   

Chapter Text

There was a halo around the edges of the dark curtain. The rain had stopped at some point in the night and the morning sky woke up clear and bright. Wilhelm ran his fingers over Simon’s stomach, over the thick hoodie bunched where Simon’s body was curled inward. He wished he could feel Simon’s smooth skin. He wished he could feel it warm in the morning sun but they had yet to work their way out of the shadows.

A door slammed. Wilhelm’s fingers clenched into the hoodie. Simon shifted under his hand. The quiet returned to the hall. It was just a student heading to the bathroom, still half asleep and forgetting to be courteous of others.

Wilhelm relaxed his hand. He watched the back of Simon’s neck and waited for him to settle again. He slid his hand back then and untangled his limbs from Simon’s. He was trapped on the small bed, between Simon and the wall, too hot, cuddled against another body under the blanket and in his own hoodie.  Wilhelm carefully extracted himself. He sat up and pulled the blanket off. He wrapped it back around Simon’s shoulders before scooting down to the foot of the bed and climbing over Simon’s legs.

Wilhelm stood in the center of the room, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want Simon to wake up alone and think that maybe again Wilhelm had walked away, but he didn’t want to disturb Simon either. He picked the laptop off the floor and placed it on the desk beside Erik’s broken watch. He wrapped the watched around his wrist. The lug was bent so the face didn’t sit flat. He hadn’t noticed that yesterday. He been too focused on the crack.

“I’m sure you can get that fixed.” Simon looked up at him from the bed, his face soft with sleep.

“On my first day, in the chapel, when the choir came in, Felice waved at me. We went to elementary school together. August made some comment about her and bagging girls while they’re young and still too insecure to protest. It was vile. Erik laughed.”

“He was probably caught off guard,” Simon said slowly. He sounded unsure, like he was guessing at what Wilhelm wanted to hear. Wilhelm didn’t like when people did that. It made him too conscious of his own reactions. “He didn’t know what to do. People laugh when they’re uncomfortable.”

“Maybe.” Wilhelm slipped the watch off his wrist and tucked it into the desk drawer.

“It’s not like he could have punched him square in the face. There, in the chapel. In front of everyone. In front of the media. In the dorms however…” Simon was smirking. His eyes flicked down to Wilhelm’s hand.

“You’re not upset about that?”

“No. I think that was the appropriate response. How’s your hand?”

Wilhelm smiled. Relief and calm settling his shoulders. Maybe Simon’s reaction wasn’t fear. Maybe it was something else. “Fine. How are you?”

“I don’t know. Tired.”

“Sorry. I was trying not to wake you.”

“I know. It was cute.”

You’re cute, is what Wilhelm wanted to say, looking down at Simon and how he snuggled the pillow to his cheek. Wilhelm’s own cheeks flushed. He huffed a laugh and he shook his head. He pushed his hair back from his face. “I was maybe going to go for a run. You can have the room. Go back to sleep.”

“I’ll come. It’ll wake me up. Get out some of my anger.”

Malin wasn’t working that morning. Igor was alright. He had the same discretion training. He didn’t blink when Wilhelm stepped out of the room to use the bathroom and Simon followed. He didn’t smile good morning though. Wilhelm supposed that wasn’t part of his job description and so it shouldn’t be held against him.

Simon borrowed a t-shirt and pulled his purple hoodie back on. Wilhelm found another pair of sweatpants and tied up his runners. Simon went to open the door again but Wilhelm grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Window,” he mouthed.

They climbed out the window and walked across campus to the lake front. “I’m not going to jump in front of an assassin for you,” Simon said.

“No. You’d be the one pulling the trigger. This is as good a place as any for your revolution. Secluded. In the woods. Push my body into the lake.”

Simon shook his head in the way that made his curls bounce. “That’s murder. Assassination needs to be public. Guillotine in a public square. Your body need to be strung up somewhere. Heads on pikes. Also, your bodyguard knows that I was with you.”

Wilhelm smiled and veered right on the path, counterclockise. “You play too many violent video games. You should try Mario Party.”

Simon grabbed his arm and pulled him left, clockwise. “I have an X-Box.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Wilhelm said as they started jogging and fell in step along the dead-end road that served as an extended driveway for a handful of houses.

“I’m also not the one that punched August.”

Wilhelm smiled. He shook his sore hand out in front of Simon’s face.

Simon batted it away. “Well actually, I have punched him.”

“What? When?”

“Last semester. When he wouldn’t pay up for the alcohol. It was before he told me he was broke.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It’s something.”

“Maybe my mum was right. Maybe you are a bad influence on me.”

“Ha! No. You’re a bad influence on me.”

“So I have influence on you?”

“Don’t push it.”   

Wilhelm raised his hands in surrender. “You know, the Russian Tzar was shot in a basement in the middle of the night and his body was hidden down an old mine shaft.”

“The Red Army also announced his execution the next day. And took responsibility for it.”

“Yeah, so you could do that. Make an Instagram post. Be a martyr.”

“I’m not getting myself thrown in prison over the crown. Not worth it. That’s part of the problem though. The monarchy isn’t worth anyone’s time or energy but dismantling it is going to take just that.”

The wooden boardwalk stepped up where the pavement ended and weaved through the woods. They ran past the park on the Bjarstad side and the detour around the house on the lake front. “It’d be nice to live here,” Wilhelm said between heaved breaths. “Lake front. Quiet. Pasture for a horse.”

“I want to get out of Bjarstad,” Simon said. “There’s nothing here. Maybe as a city escape. Gotta be rich for that though.”

Wilhelm smiled. That could work. He would need to be in Stockholm most of the time anyways, but he was rich. He could afford a city escape.

At the brick lay bridge Wilhelm said, “You could string my body up here.”

“Hang it from underneath so your feet dangle in the river and are slowly eroded away. Still a little secluded but not bad. Very disrespectful.”

“I decided that August was the troll and lived under here.”

“Oh my god.” Simon laughed. He laughed so hard he had to stop running.

“You okay?” Wilhelm said, beginning to laugh at Simon’s state.  

Simon had rested his arms on the side wall of the bridge and continued to laugh. “It’s not even that funny. I just wasn’t expecting it. Sara’s attempt at social climbing landed her a troll, living under a bridge.”

They walked the rest of the path back to the school and then around the side of dormitories, back to the window. Wilhelm slide it open placed his palms flat on the frame and jumped. He didn’t get very far. His arms shook as he pushed himself up further and scraped his knee up the wall to reach the ledge.

“This is why you need to stretch.” Simon said.

“You didn’t stretch.”

Simon lifted his right leg up and hooked the heal of his shoe on the sill beside Wilhelm’s hand. He leaned forward to stretch out his hamstring and turned to look at Wilhelm with a smile.

Wilhelm’s arms gave out and he dropped back down.

Simon lowered his right leg and lifted his left leg to the sill.

Wilhelm shook out his arms and placed his palms back on the sill. He jumped again, higher this time, and was finally able to clamber inside. “I don’t know how you managed that when I was high.”

“I may have been a bit handsy with a boost,” Simon said.

Wilhelm spun around. “Kinky.”

Simon laughed, his hands braced tightly around the frame as he inched his foot down onto the desk chair. “Try pathetic. You were just hanging there. And a couple good shoves would do it and it would be over. But I stood there for a solid two minutes with my hand hovering in front of your ass panicking and screaming silently into the night sky.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you were so out of it and unpredictable and…”

Wilhelm sat down on his bed and leaned back on his hands. “And?”

Simon turned around and closed the window. And then the curtains. “And that was probably the best opportunity I was going to get and the fact that that even crossed my mind was so fucked up. But then I couldn’t just walk away. It had to be done.”

“Well, I retroactively give you permission.”

Simon didn’t turn around. He fiddled with a loose thread at the bottom of the curtain. There was something else.

“Simon.”

“You were being so unfair.” It was quiet but not mumbled. It was not an accusation, but merely a fact, a fact that had caused Simon pain.

Wilhelm leaned forward. “I know. Simon, I know and I’m sorry. I don’t want to be unfair.”

“I should have walked away. August would have found you in the morning and sorted you out and everything would have been fine.”

That was a horrifying prospect – being jabbed awake by August to find himself hanging upside down through the window, his head throbbing with every utterance that spilled from August’s mouth. Wilhelm was eternally grateful Simon had gotten him tucked safely into bed. That seemed unfair to say though. “But you didn’t. And it’s not fine. And it’s my fault. And you can walk away now. Simon, I promise, you can walk away now. I’ll be fine. I’ll find a different assassin. Or that doesn’t even matter. Just, you don’t have to waste anymore time or energy.”

Simon’s phone rang from the pocket of his discarded jeans. They both turned to look at it before Simon stepped away from the window to dig it out. “It’s my mum. I should get it.”

Wilhelm nodded. He stood from the bed and walked to the door. “If you need to go, don’t worry about it.”

Malin was stationed outside his room when Wilhelm stepped into the hall. Shift change. “Ah, someone finally answered that phone. It’s rung…” Malin lifted her finger as if counting. “Six times.”

“Yeah, uh…” Wilhelm mouthed Simon’s here. “And he didn’t want to answer it.”

“And he didn’t decline the other five calls? Or turn the phone off?”

“No.”

Malin raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

Wilhelm rocked back on his heels and turned away from Malin. Her footsteps followed. He could feel her eyes on him. She knew he was lying. She was probably disappointed. Or angry. He fiddled with the hangnail on this thumb, scaped it back bit by bit. He pushed his hair back in attempt to shake her gaze but it was futile. He kept walking so as not to face it and found himself in the dining hall.

“Sir,” Malin started.  

Wilhelm did not stop to listen to her warning though it wasn’t unwarranted. Eyes turned to him and whispers about the scuffle with August filtered down the long dining table. Wilhelm busied himself with a bagel and then shuffled past the whispers and the stares to the far end of the table – beside Henry.

“Hi Wilhelm.”

Wilhelm nodded in acknowledgment but pulled his phone out of his pocket and pretended to be invested in scrolling to avoid being dragged into whatever conversation Henry was having with Walter.

It was incredible how he managed to screw up something as simple as a morning run. Simon hated the crown and yet despite that, he had fallen for the boy that sat beneath it. Wilhelm had only wanted to show Simon that that boy still existed. He wanted to run without a security detail nipping at their heels. He wanted to joke around and be goofy. He wanted to poke fun at his idiotic recreational drug use. But the crown was hard to shake. It fit snug around his skull like the crude metal headbands affixed to victims of electroshock therapy, primed to jolt and subdue. Overtime, the collective volts would fry through the synapses in his brain and the boy beneath the crown would cease to be. Simon was right to hate it. And Wilhelm loved him for it.

The chair opposite him scraped as it was pulled back. Simon sat down. Wilhelm put his phone back in his pocket but Simon didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached across the table and stole the second half of Wilhelm’s bagel. He took a bite that was so big it had to be a choking hazard. It was good excuse to not have to talk.

Wilhelm decided to indulge the request. Actions spoke louder than words and Simon hadn’t walked away.

Wilhelm leaned back in his chair and took an even bigger bite than Simon’s. Yeah, it was definitely a choking hazard. Wilhelm inhaled deeply through his nose and tried to focus solely on chewing.

Simon laughed and shook his head. “Are you dying?”

“Shut up.”

“So what are your plans for the day?”

“I don’t know. I need to take Beau around the ring and finish my History project.”

“You’re not done?”

“You sound like Felice. I still have the entire weekend. It’s not like it’s Sunday night. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. I think that’s normal.”

“What’s your topic?”

“What’s your topic?”

“Swedish Neutrality.” Simon put air quotes around neutrality. “Basically all the ways Sweden aided Nazi Germany.”

“That’s unsettling.”

“Mmhmm,” Simon nodded. “There’s no such thing as neutrality. You’re either on one side or the other. So what’s your topic?”

“You want to steal another half of my bagel?”

Simon smiled. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.” Wilhelm got up and put another bagel in the toaster. When he returned, Simon promptly reached over an took one of the halves.

“You know, if you don’t tell me what your topic is, I’m going to assume it’s some Nazi sympathizing shit.”

Wilhelm shook his head. “It’s not.”

“You’re being weird.”

Wilhelm shrugged. “Malin’s mad,” he said, changing the subject. “Because I snuck out.”

Simon turned to look at her. “She doesn’t seem mad.”

Malin was standing by the doorway, hands folded in front of her, expression tight. “Really? She doesn’t look happy.”

“She’s a serious person. That’s just how she looks. You’re overreacting.”

“You think?”

“You’re alive. No harm done. Her life doesn’t revolve around you. It’s just a job.”

“She can’t have both princes die on her watch.”

Simon scrunched his nose. “No offence, but like you both died on your own watch. Erik was driving. She wasn’t even in the car. And you deliberately snuck out with a person you know wants to end the monarchy.”

It was a joke. And Wilhelm smiled. Genuinely. He was surprised by it. If anyone else had said it, his reaction would have been different. But it was Simon and Simon knew and Simon cared and Simon liked to tease.

And time heals. Maybe that clock had started to tick.

Conversation trickled down the table. “Simon plays,” Gunnar said before turning to Simon. “Are you hanging out today?”

Simon’s eyes flicked to Wilhelm. The other breakfast conversations ceased, and everyone’s eyes turned on them like dominos falling in a line. Their privacy and normalcy was always going to be that way, precarious and temporary and a fight against the natural order of universe – or disorder of the universe. The universe sought always to increase entropy, increase chaos. Moments of peace between Wilhelm and Simon had to be constructed carefully but that construct would always be toppled. It was inevitable. Like being prodded up on the table. It was on the tip of everyone’s tongue. Wilhelm could feel it. They restrained themselves out of pity or some sort of discomfort surrounding gay people, and gay relationships, and gay sex. Wilhelm was suddenly thankful for that othering. If Simon was a girl, they wouldn’t think twice. But then again, if Simon was a girl – if Wilhelm was straight – maybe he wouldn’t be so shy. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bothered by his peers inquiring about his sex life. Was his disposition innate to his being or was it a consequence of circumstance? What about the question they were holding back? Were teenage boys preprogrammed to ask invasive questions and in-turn answer those questions with too much detail and no consideration or respect for the other party? Or had society molded them to think this okay and encouraged? Maybe this would cause them to question it themselves. Or maybe Wilhelm was fighting a losing battle against the universe’s ever-expanding entropy.

“Yes,” Simon answered Gunnar but smiled at Wilhelm.

Wilhelm smiled back.

“Halo tournament in the common room. You in?”  

“Sure,” Simon said nodded.

“You any good?” Nils asked.

Simon took a bite of his bagel. He continued to nod as he chewed. Wilhelm smiled at Simon’s confidence.

“Wilhelm? You want in?” Gunnar asked.

Wilhelm shook his head. “No.” He held up his right hand and flexed his fingers. “I prefer to take out enemies in real life.”

A series of oohs rang throughout the room. Malin lifted a finger behind her ear – a warning. “Violence isn’t the answer Wilhelm,” Nils said sarcastically. “You must learn to use your words.”

“That must be a third-year lesson. I’ll watch out for it,” Wilhelm said.

“What did August do? What happened?” Walter asked.

August was offensive and derogatory and cruel and happily implied that he taking advantage of Sara. Wilhelm couldn’t say that though. It was too exposing. He shrugged. “He got in my way.”

Simon mimicked the shrug back at him with a smile.

The interest in them waned and everyone went back to their own conversations. “Halo tournament?” Wilhelm asked Simon.

“Why not? You have to work on your project. Mum said I have to be home for Sunday dinner tomorrow but I can stay here or whatever until then.”

“Is that it? That’s not too bad for dealing drugs.”

“No. There’s more coming. She hasn’t told me yet. That’s what Sunday dinner is for. She’ll probably take away my X-Box. Might as well get my fix now.”

Simon disappeared for the rest of the morning. Or really, it was Wilhelm who disappeared, back to his room and his history project. Every fifteen minutes or so a particularly loud holler would make its way from the common room, down the hall, to his dorm. Wilhelm could never tell if the commotion was happy or frustrated. Maybe it was both, the room divided into factions, equally invested in opposite interests. One side’s triumph was another side’s defeat. A zero-sum game.

Of course that was just a video game. The frustration was performative. In reality, they were all having fun and in reality, there were no victors in war. In reality, sometimes victory didn’t lead to liberation. Life wasn’t necessarily a zero-sum game. Simon stayed but that didn’t mean Simon lost his ground. Maybe Wilhelm’s the stand off with his mother could end similarly. Maybe he could be with who he wanted without the crown toppling. It could easily tip the other way though, where they both lost, where Simon and the wider public became too fed up with the game at hand.

When Wilhelm finished his paper, he swapped his sweatpants for riding pants and pulled on his boots. He stopped in the common room. The three sofas were piled with a dozen students whose eyes were focused on the large television screen which was split into four quadrants. Four guns hovered and swiveled in front of POV cameras in each quadrant and shot at various things, people, aliens, each other… Wilhelm didn’t really know. Simon sat on the sofa in the center of the room with his back to Wilhelm, a controller cradled between his hands. Wilhelm watched Simon’s fingers flick back and forth between the joystick and the various buttons but he was unable to correlate those movements with a specific quadrant.

“Who are you?” Wilhelm asked, resting his forearms on the back of the sofa behind Simon.

“Bottom right,” Simon answered without taking his eyes off the screen.

There was a snicker from somewhere on the right side of the room but it was quickly lost in the gun fire and unsolicited game play advice being lobbied throughout the room. Wilhelm turned his attention to the bottom right quadrant. The gun moved through a dark spaceship or space station – again Wilhelm didn’t know – through several airlock looking doors. “Are you going in circles?” Wilhelm asked.

“No, this is a different chamber,” Simon said.

“Are you winning?”

“Yes.”

“No, I’m winning,” Nils protested.

Simon and Nils debated back and forth about various aspects and mechanics of the game. Wilhelm didn’t follow but it was clear that Simon was confident in his game and could easily defend it while simultaneously switching out guns and annihilating enemies. He did this in the center of a crowd of boys even after everything, after they had been less than welcoming, after the video. Half the room was probably rooting for him to lose.

Wilhelm smiled. He took a seat against the wall beside Henry to watch the battle play out. “Do you know what’s going on?” Wilhelm asked.

Henry beamed. “Yeah!” He then proceeded to provide Wilhelm live play-by-play commentary between replay tangents.

“Are you up next?” Wilhelm asked.

“No. No first years.”

“Simon’s playing.”

“I think Nils just wanted to beat him.”

“Of course.”  

Simon didn’t let that happen. He got his win and Nils tossed his controller onto the coffee table before huffing out of the room. Wilhelm felt oddly proud and smug.

“Okay, who’s up next?” Gunnar asked. “Wilhelm?”

“No,” Wilhelm said as he pushed himself up. “I don’t know a thing about Halo. And I’ve got to take Beau out. Henry can have my spot.”

Simon stood from the sofa and held out the controller for Henry. Henry hesitated for a moment, looking up at Wilhelm with wide, surprised eyes. Simon gave the controller a small shake. Henry grabbed it quickly and took Simon’s empty seat.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Wilhelm said when they were back in the hall.

“You have no idea what you were watching, do you?”

“No. But I know you won.”

Simon shrugged. “Whatever.”

“You coming to the stable?” Wilhelm asked.

“Sure.” Simon turned towards the outside door but Wilhelm grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hallway.

“Kitchen first.”

They walked past the dining hall to the double doors at the end of the hall. The sign on the doors said “Kitchens – No Student Access.” Wilhelm pushed the door open.

“Umm… This is a new level of entitlement, even for you,” Simon said.

“It’s fine. Felice said they don’t mind.”

“Oh, well, if Felice said...”

The kitchen bright. The fluorescent light bounced off the white floors and the stainless-steel appliances that lined the walls in multiples. It looked like the palace kitchen, stark and industrial. It smelled warm though, like sugar and melted butter. The school chef looked up from his chopping and down at Wilhelm’s boots. He gestured vaguely with the large knife in his hand to the last fridge in the row of three. “Carrots for the horses?” he said.

“Thanks,” Wilhelm said.  

“Take a cookie while you’re here. There are a few broken ones on the rack.” The cookies were a half inch thick and as big as Wilhelm’s hand. They were oatmeal, cranberry, coconut – heavy on the oatmeal as a way to sneak some sustenance into students soothing their school stress with sugar.

With snacks in hand, Wilhelm and Simon walked down to the stable. The other horses popped their heads over their stall doors when they entered. Beau did not. He was tucked against the back wall of the stall, head down in the straw, nosing at his hooves but not eating.

“Beau?”

Beau’s ears twitched and his eyes flicked to Wilhelm, but he didn’t move.

Wilhelm leaned his arms on the door and rested his chin on top. “What’s wrong, Bozo? Want to go for a ride? We’ve got to figure out that jump course.”

Beau snorted.

“Do you want a treat?” Wilhelm held out a carrot in his hand.

Beau raised his head a few inches but dropped it again.

Wilhelm slid open the stall door and sat down in the crunchy hay in front of Beau’s muzzle. Beau didn’t move away but he did turn his head towards the back wall. “Come on,” Wilhelm said, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “It wasn’t that bad. It was mostly my fault. Promise. Sorry we didn’t get to finish yesterday. I had to go be Prince Charming and slay a dragon.”

“I thought August was a troll.” Simon said.

Wilhelm ignored him. “You know how it is. But I can’t be a prince without my horse, now can I? ”

Beau turned back to him then and rested his head in Wilhelm’s lap. Wilhelm scratched up under his forelock. Beau took the offered carrot this time, though Wilhelm had to press it up to his lips as if he was securing the bridle bit.

“Simon’s got another,” Wilhelm said when Beau finished chomping.  

“What?”

“Come on. He likes you.”

“I like my fingers.”

“Palm out and flat. He can’t bite you.” Wilhelm stood and nudged Beau towards Simon and where he stood behind the partially open stall door.

Simon flinched when Beau’s muzzle tickled over his skin. Beau’s eyes darted between the two boys. His ears twitched at the groan Simon let out as his hand was slowly covered in slobber and flattened back when at Wilhelm’s subsequent laugh. He picked up a hoof, ready to back away when Wilhelm reached up under his mane to scratch at his ears.  

Simon reached around the door and wiped his hand on Wilhelm’s sleeve. “Gross.”  

“Hey!” Wilhelm recoiled.   

“Your horse, your slobber.”

Beau shuffled his hooves in the hay and followed Wilhelm. Ears still back and flat, he nosed at the pocket of Wilhelm’s hoodie, covering him in more slobber.

“Found the real treat, did you?” Wilhelm took the broken cookie half out of his pocket. He unwrapped the paper towel he had folded it in and held it out for Beau. “Better now?” Wilhelm asked as Beau licked the crumbs out of his hand, his rough tongue extending down over this wrist. Beau nuzzled into his palm and Wilhelm stroked his velvety, charcoal grey, nose. Beau settled against his hand. His ears stopped twitching. His eyes steadied, forward, on Wilhelm. Wilhelm brought his hand up between Beau’s eyes and ducked his head to kiss his nose. “Yeah, you’re okay. It’s okay. You’re a good boy.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilhelm could see Simon watching him, watching him kiss and pet and talk to his horse. Wilhelm blushed. Simon didn’t say anything though. Wilhelm kissed Beau once more before stepping out of the stall to gab his brush kit. “Want to help?” Wilhelm asked.  

“Uhh...” Simon backed away as Beau stepped out of his stall to follow Wilhelm. “I’ll watch. I’d probably be more of a hinderance.”

“It’s not hard.”

“That’s not my primary concern. I don’t want to get stepped on.”

“It’s not that bad. You just lean into him and give him a shove,” Wilhelm said, pushing back against Beau’s shoulder to get him to back up back to his stall. “See. He listens. He’ll shuffle over.”

“Okay but have you ever been stepped on?”

“Yes. Twice?” He asked Beau. “Maybe three times?”  

“Seriously! What happened?”

“Nothing,” Wilhelm laughed. “I just shoved him over.” He picked up the brush with the stiff rubber nubs and rubbed it circles against Beau’s coat. “The palace has this old horse, Harry. He’s become very grumpy in his old age and will deliberately step on your feet and no matter how hard you shove, he won’t move. It’s pretty funny.”

“If you like laughing at others pain.”

“Who doesn’t?” Wilhelm finished with the first brush and put it back in the kit. He pulled two soft hair brushes out and held one out for Simon. Simon rolled his eye but took it and stepped into the stall.

“Ah. I see. My fear amuses you.”

“Yup,” Wilhelm said with a wide smile. “Just brush with the hair,” he said before ducking under Beau’s neck to brush his other side.

“Shouldn’t you do this by the chains where you can clip him in? Everyone else does.”

“He doesn’t like cross ties. He gets really fidgety and anxious. That’s when I got stepped on. He’s much calmer in his stall. Oh and if you’re going to walk behind him for any reason, put your hand on his ass and keep it there as you walk so he knows where you are. You should be good at that.”

“Oh my god, no! We’re not making sexual innuendos around your horse. Clearly, I will put up with a lot, but I will not put up with any sort of horse kink.”

Wilhelm laughed.

“Shut up,” Simon said but he couldn’t hold back his own laughter. “That’s like a real thing. People fuck their horses.”

“There’s a Broadway play about it. Staring Harry Potter.”

“Seriously? Have you seen it?”

“No, it’s old. Daniel Radcliffe goes full frontal in it.”

“What prompts an actor to be like, yeah, the project where I fuck a horse, that’s the one I’ll get naked for? And were there like, horse dicks in the scene? That’s a rough size comparison. You gotta be real confidant.”

Wilhelm couldn’t speak. He was doubled over, wheezing for breath as he laughed.

“Would that make the character gay? Does the gay-straight thing transfer between species? And like people die doing it, right? What’s going on there? Are they getting kicked in the head? Or…?”

“Or what? Ripped in two?”

“Jesus! No, stop,” Simon shook his head but laughed. Beau whinnied along with them. “See, even he’s horrified.”

“You brought it up. This isn’t on me.”

Wilhelm finished tacking Beau up and lead him to the ring. Simon took a seat on the bleachers and Wilhelm climbed into the saddle. He walked Beau through the course, following the path that weaved between the jumps. He trotted the route next. Beau’s stride was bouncy and energetic. As they approached jump seven, Beau pulled at the reigns. His pace quickened. He was trying to break into a canter and complete the jump he had halted at the night before. Wilhelm held the reigns back and tight and even then, Beau’s head turned towards the jump as they passed. Wilhelm started Beau on the outside track when he did pick up a canter to keep him calm. After two laps, he veered Beau off the track towards jump seven. Beau’s stride widened immediately. He was determined to jump and Wilhelm cocked his heels down, determined to stay seated. Wilhelm pulled himself up only at the last second as Beau’s front legs arch up off the ground.

The landing was jerky but nothing compared to somersaulting into the rail and the ground. Wilhelm gathered the reigns and pulled Beau back to a trot so he could change leads and pick the canter back up going clockwise around the track. Wilhelm took Beau back around the top of the ring and then turned towards jump six, the triple combination. Beau cleared the first, the second, and the third. He transitioned leads easily, banked towards seven, and cleared it easily.

Wilhelm pulled Beau back to a walk and leaned forward to wrap his arms around his neck in hug. “There. Just like that. We can do that.” Beau turned his head to look at him. “You’re just the best, aren’t you?” Wilhelm pressed a kiss to Beau’s mane before sitting back up and calling across the ring to Simon. “How did that look?”

“Good? I don’t know. You didn’t fall.”

“Well spotted.”

Wilhelm took Beau around the full course a couple times. He didn’t worry about their time. He took the turns wide and the kept the reigns tight. Beau stretched his neck forward and pulled at the bit. His pace was choppy, alternating between what he wanted and what Wilhelm wanted. His hooves clipped a few rails and knocked off a pole on the ascending oxer and the vertical combination. Beau would probably blame the slow pace. Wilhelm blamed his uneven stride. It didn’t matter now though. They would have to build back the speed and rhythm needed to compete but they could start slow.

Wilhelm cantered Beau around another lap of the ring to let him get the speed he was craving before halting him again at the bleachers.

“Done?” Simon asked. He was leaning back on his hands that were tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, his head tilted to the side. Really, it was nothing special but Wilhelm could help but think how cute Simon looked, there, on the bleachers, just watching him mess around on his horse after everything.

“Almost.” Wilhelm swung his leg over the back of the saddle and hopped off. He adjusted the stirrups so they sat up on the saddle flap and then tucked their straps back through them. He lifted the saddle flap and unbuckled the girth. It swung down and both Wilhelm and Beau jumped when the buckle clanged against the bleachers.

“You’re as bad as him,” Simon laughed.

“Am not,” Wilhelm said, taking off his helmet and shaking out his hair.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Ha. Ha.”  

Wilhelm folded the girth up on top of the saddle before scooping the saddle, saddle pad, and blanket off Beau’s back and setting them down on the bleachers. Standing on the first row of seats, Wilhelm splayed his torso over Beau’s back and maneuvered his leg up and over until he was seated somewhat gracefully again.

“That looked painful,” Simon said.

“It was,” Wilhelm said and then he held out his hand. “Your turn.”

“What?” Simon’s eyes shot wide.

“Come on.”

“No. I’ve never been on a horse before.”

“It’s easy. And Beau likes you. He won’t do anything.”

“Like throw me to the ground.”

“Yeah. We’ll just walk around. He needs a cool down.”

Simon stepped carefully down the bleachers towards them. His eyes flicked from Wilhelm, to Beau, down to his feet, and back. “Okay, but how?”

Wilhelm smiled. If Simon was one thing, he was brave. “Hold on to me and bring your leg over.”

“You’re insane,” Simon said but he did as Wilhelm instructed, gripping his hands into Wilhelm’s waist and then sliding his arms around his torso entirely when he needed more leverage. Wilhelm clenched his abs trying to stay as steady as possible. Beau shuffled beneath them from the added weight and general commotion. “Nope. Nope,” Simon said with both strain and fear in his voice. He didn’t pull away though. Wilhelm gently pulled and relaxed the reigns to get Beau to settle.

Simon’s arms relaxed once he was seated but they didn’t slip away. “That never needs to be public.”

“Noted. I’ll add it to the list. Under blowjobs.”   

“Jesus.” Simon ducked his forehead onto Wilhelm’s shoulder. He was laughing and his curly hair tickled Wilhelm’s neck. Wilhelm turned his head around towards Simon and smiled. A month ago he wouldn’t have imagined joking about the tape. Evidenced by Simon’s reaction to his open curtains the night before, it was still triggering. It was still triggering for Wilhelm. But maybe in the right context, when it was just the two of them, they could find some humour in it. They didn’t do anything wrong after all. In that moment, at least. And maybe that’s what hurt Simon the most about his statement – the distancing, the separation. In the days between the leak and the statement, though the moments weren’t happy, the moments he had spent with Simon, hidden away in his dorm room, were the only moments of peace Wilhelm could find. Maybe they could heal alone but together, they could rebuild the dorm room walls around them and recreate that trust and comfort and fun and desire.

A scene flashed in Wilhelm’s head of clothes being rapidly shucked in the foyer, up the staircase, in the bedroom of the house on the lake. Of his hands and body pinning Simon face down on the bed. Of Simon grabbing his wrist and looking back at him with wide, panicked eyes just as Wilhelm went to replace his fingers with his dick. “Wait!” Of his own quick and concerned “What?” Of Simon’s slow smirk. “Did you close the curtains?” Of his eye roll and Simon’s laugh, quickly muffled into a pillow as Wilhelm smacked his bare and upturned ass for his cheek.

Fuck.

Wilhelm’s mind shocked him sometimes. He turned his head to face ahead again, worried of catching Simon’s eye and Simon catching his flushed cheeks and a glimpse of the scene playing out in his mind, projected somehow on the back of his retinas. Simon always seemed to know what he was thinking.      

It – that – would take time, but maybe that time had started to tick.

Wilhelm clicked his tongue and Beau walked forward. Simon perked back up when they started moving. His fingers gripped into Wilhelm’s hoodie but relaxed again after half a lap of lazy plodding around the track. His hands wandered a bit then. Wilhelm tried watch them without making it obvious he was looking down. The hands slipped back around Wilhelm’s hips before sliding forward again and burying themselves in the front pocket of his hoodie. Wilhelm leaned back slightly so he could feel Simon’s chest against his back and Simon leaned forward.

They walked another half lap, their feet knocking together in the rhythm of Beau’s strides.

“You know,” Wilhelm said. “I still have to do my stretches.”

“Now why doesn’t that surprise m-” A yelp quickly replaced Simon’s unimpressed tone when Wilhelm dropped the reins and leaned over to touch his toes. “What are you doing?”

“Stretching,” Wilhelm said, sitting up and leaning over the other way.

“A little warning would be nice. If I fall off, it’s your fault.”

“Grip with your knees. Use your core. Like rowing.”

“This is nothing like rowing.”

Wilhelm leaned forward over Beau’s neck to touch his ears. Simon’s hand flexed and fidgeted around Wilhelm’s toros. He seemed unsure whether to hold on to Wilhelm or not.  

“Gotta lean back. Touch his tail.”

“What?”

Wilhelm leaned his whole body weight into Simon and eased him back until they were lying somewhat flat. “See, this is like rowing.”

Simon laughed and his body vibrated against Wilhelm’s. Wilhelm could help but laugh himself at the sheer absurdity of what they must look like.

Chapter Text

Math was first on Monday. The table Simon and Sara shared in the center of the room was empty. Instead, Simon was slumped down in a chair at the spare table in the back corner of the class. Sara was no where to be seen. Felice caught Wilhelm’s eye. She raised an eyebrow looking for answers but his guess was a good as hers. By habit, Wilhelm had crossed the room to the table he shared with Henry and received his obligatory Henry greeting before he willed his feet to change course.

“Can I sit with you?” Wilhelm asked, standing at the empty seat next to Simon.   

Simon smiled and rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to. I’ll probably get in trouble for not being in my assigned seat.”

Wilhelm set his books on the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down. “Mr. Wingarick might overlook that if I’m also not in my assigned seat. Or is that too much entitlement for you?”

“Shut up.” Simon said, shaking his head and scooting in his chair. When he sat back, it was a bit straighter. “No. You know, he’ll find a way to just blame me. I’ll get detention and you’ll get a… uh, a gold star or some shit.”

“Yeah, or some shit,” Wilhelm smiled.

When Sara entered, there was a moment’s hesitation in her step as her eyes landed first on the empty Erikson table and second on Simon in the back of the class. Felice turned around with another questioning eyebrow. Simon busied himself with his notebook and the date. Wilhelm shrugged and began flipping though his own notebook for a new page. He wasn’t sure what Felice was asking. In matters concerning Sara, Wilhelm decided it best to defer to Simon and Simon seemingly didn’t care as long as he didn’t have to sit next to her.

Chair legs scraped and Wilhelm looked up again as Felice stood and transferred her things up a row, to take Simon’s usual seat beside Sara. Maddison stared wide eyed and open mouthed at the newly emptied seat next her before she also scraped her chair back with a force that made Wilhelm recoil. She marched over to take Wilhelm’s empty seat be side Henry. “What? Don’t I get a hi?” Maddison asked.

Wilhelm had to choke down a laugh as Henry stuttered. “Wh- I uh- No- I mean- H-hi Maddison.”

“Hi! You can call me Maddie.”

Henry didn’t reply.

“What the fuck?” Simon mouthed around a stifled giggle.  

“Girls,” Wilhelm replied, equally bemused.

“I see we’re playing musical chairs today,” Mr. Wingarick said when he entered, his eyes doing a couple scans of the room to locate the rouge students. Several other students, including Sara, turned to look as well, at Wilhelm and Simon sitting together. A small spot on Wilhelm’s shoulder grew warm where it pressed lightly against Simon’s – the red bullseye, the target of everyone’s pointed gaze. Their eyes flicked to Simon’s face and Wilhelm’s hair and their mind’s flicked to the video. It’s not as if they didn’t already know. It was never a mystery. This was just the game they would forever be playing. Who would be the ultimate victor? Wilhelm tilted the toe of his shoe until it tapped and rested against the toe of Simon’s. “If you behave and pay attention, you can remain where are.”

As Mr. Wingarick began the lesson, Wilhelm reached his hand out to Simon’s notebook and scrawled in the margins “You okay?”

Simon looked up him and Wilhelm nodded towards Sara. Simon replied under Wilhelm’s note. “Yeah,” followed by a doodle of an upside-down smiley face and a “thanks,” punctuated by a toe tap.

Simon was quiet during the lesson. It was math though. Wilhelm figured he needed to concentrate. They were doing systems of equations. A single equation with two variables could never be solved no matter how many ways it was rearranged, expanded, factored, or simplified. Two variables required two equations, each stuck in limbo on their own, but when slotted and weaved together, could be untangled and answered. Mr. Wingarick had given them a set of word problems to work on. The first read:

Band students are tested on, and required to pass, a certain number of scales during the year. As of today, Franklin has passed 8 scales, whereas his friend Natalie has passed 5 of them. Going forward, Franklin has committed to passing 1 scale per week, and Natalie has committed to passing 4 per week. At some point soon, the two friends will have passed the same number of scales. How many scales will that be? How long will that take?

The friends will each have passed ___ scales in ____ weeks.

Wilhelm smiled at the music reference and nudged Simon only to find that he had already written out the equations, linked them together, and solved for the number of weeks.

x = scales
y = weeks

Franklin: x = y + 8
Natalie: x = 4y + 5

y + 8 = 4y + 5
3y = 3
y = 1

“Nine,” Wilhelm said. “Scales.”

“Yes, I know. I was getting there,” Simon said, carefully writing out the last step.

x = 1 + 8
x = 9

Simon looked up from his notebook then. “Hey! You haven’t even done it. You were just looking at mine.”

“You were fast.”  

Simon shrugged. “That one was easy.”

“Woah! It was easy? Am I going to be presenting you the Nobel Prize in mathematics one day?”

“Just shut up and do your work. Your own work.”

“Maybe I did do my own work? Maybe I did it in my head? It was pretty easy.”

“You don’t get marks for that. You have to show your work.”

“What? One plus eight equals nine?”

“Okay, you were being nice before. Now your being mean.”

“You told me to shut up.”

“Oh, did that hurt your feelings, Princess?”

Wilhelm’s mouth dropped open. The gall.

“Are you a cod fish now?”

“What?”

Simon shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Mr. Erikson,” Mr. Wingarick called from behind his desk and his bifocals.

Both Simon and Wilhelm laughed then. Usually, Wilhelm wouldn’t dare. Usually, he’d square his shoulders, bow his head, and apologize immediately. Simon was the same, respectful and studious. But they were already bubbling when Mr. Wingarick played his hand exactly as Simon predicted. Wilhelm tried to hide it behind his hand but it was futile.

“I fail to see what’s funny about your name, Mr. Erikson.”

“Sorry sir,” Wilhelm mumbled behind his hand. He took a deep breath and lowered his hand. “It was my fault.”

Simon had leaned his forehead forward onto his hands for more cover. “Sorry sir,” he echoed.

“Back to work. And I expect everyone back in their assigned seats tomorrow.”

Mr. Wingarick turned his attention back to marking some other class’s tests and Wilhelm tapped the end of his pencil on Simon’s notebook. “Back to work,” he whispered in admonishment. Out of the corner of his eye, Wilhelm watched Simon slowly turn to glare at him. The upturned corner of his mouth betrayed him though and Wilhelm mirrored it in return.

Simon was quiet again at lunch. He seemed to have swallowed his smile.

“Hey,” Wilhelm said, when he had finished eating. Simon looked up from where he was pushing his fork around his empty plate. Wilhelm grabbed his own plate and nodded to the doorway, out of the dining hall. Simon nodded and followed.

Wilhelm led them back to his dorm. He pushed open the door and stood aside to let Simon enter. Simon walked to the bed but stopped abruptly. Wilhelm shut the door and Simon turned around, his hands fidgeting around his backpack strap. “Sit,” Wilhelm offered. He dropped his books on the desk and tossed one of the pillows to the foot of the bed. He propped the other pillow up against the wardrobe and took a seat at the head of the bed. Simon dropped his backpack on the floor and mirrored Wilhelm’s position at the foot of the bed.

It was quiet. Students typically didn’t venture back to their dorms during lunch. Despite the video, this corner of his room, where his bed was tucked between the wall and the wardrobe, felt cut off from the outside world. It felt safe.

Provided the curtains were shut.

They were.

Wilhelm checked.  

“You okay?” Wilhelm asked.

“Yeah,” Simon said.

“Are you going to be able to sit beside Sara tomorrow?”

Simon tilted his head back against the wall. “Assigned seats are so dumb.” The tendons in his throat strained and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he contemplated his next words. “I’m already starting to feel bad for her. It’s ridiculous. Mama forbid her from seeing August. I don’t know how she expects to police that but whatever. Sara doesn’t seem to get that he was using her. She still likes him. Or liked having a boyfriend. I don’t know. And she hates being treated like a child. She wants to be like the other girls and they don’t have parents setting rules. She must see the truth though, about August. I don’t get how she couldn’t. And I think she’s embarrassed and hurt that she fell for it and everyone knows. I hate him so much.”

“I know. I hate him too. It’s sweet that you care for her.”

Simon shook his head. “It’s why I keep screwing myself over.”

“Being empathetic to her situation doesn’t mean opening yourself back up to her. I mean, isn’t that what this is?” Wilhelm tapped his foot against Simon’s thigh. “Isn’t that what you’re doing with me?”

“No,” Simon scoffed. “Seriously? That’s what I was supposed to be doing with you but… it’s not going well.”

Wilhelm smiled. “Guess you’re right.”

“You don’t get be happy about that.”

Wilhelm was happy though. He was happier here with Simon than he had been in a long time. He couldn’t imagine the depths he would have spiralled to if Simon had walked away. The past six months had been a Blitzkrieg. He had been shelled, invaded, and mutilated. Paris had fallen. And maybe now he could have put on that mask Erik talked about. He could have signed a peace treaty, set up a puppet government, and drunk away his life on a beach in the south of France, numb and detached and dried up from the alcohol and sun. It was bleak but it was progress. Over Christmas break he was on the verge of stumbling deep into the catacombs, of losing himself amongst Erik and the dead. There was a third option now though and it was becoming clearer everyday that Simon chose not to walk away. The Brits may have retreated back across the Channel but they hadn’t surrendered. There was still hope. “Sorry.” Wilhelm twisted is smile into a scowl. Simon kicked him. “What about you? What was your sentence?”

Simon groaned and knocked his head back against the wall again. “No X-Box until summer holidays.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Yeah.” Simon pulled his knees tighter to his chest. “I’m not allowed to see or contact Micke unless I ask and Mama supervises. She made me delete and block his number. I know his number. I can just add it back in. I don’t want to, though. She didn’t have to do anything. I wasn’t going to contact him. But now she thinks I don’t know any better.”

“Now you don’t have control.”

“Yeah.” Simon hung his head on top of his knee and mumbled into his jeans. “I hate that. It’s the worst part.”

“I know,” Wilhelm said.

Simon peeked up at him and Wilhelm tipped the corner of his mouth up into a small smile.

“You can always hang out here when you need your X-Box fix.” Wilhelm could see it, a Friday night, tucked together on the sofa in the common room, pressed shoulder to toe, frantically hitting controller buttons, Simon with precision, Wilhelm at random. Maybe Simon would try to teach him. Wilhelm would give up after being killed for the fifth time. Simon would quip, accuse him of rage quitting, and Wilhelm would make a show of throwing the controller across the room onto the other sofa before scooting back against the arm rest with a huff and a pout. Then after some playful prodding with his socked toes, Simon would end up between Wilhelm’s legs, his back pressed to Wilhelm’s chest. Wilhelm would snake his arms around Simon’s torso and hold him steady or maybe dance his fingers around Simon’s, hitting any and all of the buttons he could reach while Simon shouted protests and tried to wrestle the controller away.

Maybe they wouldn’t be alone. Maybe the girls would be there. Maybe Henry, Walter, Gunnar, Leo. And maybe that would be okay.

Wilhelm huffed a laugh and shook his head.

“What?” Simon asked.

Simon was on his bed. They were alone in his dorm room, and yet Wilhelm was daydreaming about playing video games with him in a crowded common room. The lunch hour was almost over though. Maybe it was for the best. “Nothing,” Wilhelm said.

“Okay?” Simon quirked an eyebrow. “Or I can go to Ayub’s. He has an X-Box.”

“Right. Or Ayub’s. We, uh… we should probably head to class.”

“Did you finish your project?”

“Mmhmm,” Wilhelm nodded.

“Are you going tell me your topic?”

“What the Nazis Got Right.”

“What?”

“That’s the title.”

“Wille, what the fuck?” Simon sat up, back straight and ridged. His palms flew flat to the mattress, ready to push his body up so he could flee. “I will actually murder you if you wrote some Nazi sympathizing shit. And then I’ll spend a week in the shower scrubbing my skin raw to get rid of you.”

Wilhelm laughed out loud. “You’re cute when you’re outraged.”

“Wille!”

“Relax. The title’s just click-bait. Promise.”

“In what way? Explain,” Simon demanded.  

“It’s on the Nazi persecution of homosexuals. At the end of the war, the Allies agreed and kept them locked up. From their perspective, the victors, the righteous liberators, the Nazis got it right.”

“Oh,” Simon said with wide eyes.

“Is that acceptable?”

“You’re going to present that in front of the class?”

“Yeah,” Wilhelm cringed. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking. I may be regretting it.”

“You do make a lot of questionable decisions.”

“It’s done now. I don’t really have a choice.”

“It was your choice in the first place.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Ah. Right. We’re back to the flip flopping.”

“Hey!” Wilhelm stretch his foot out and kicked Simon’s shin.

“You could redo it and turn it in late. You probably wouldn’t even get marks off.”

Wilhelm shook his head. “No. No, I want to. It’s also good – A quality. I just don’t want to be present while I’m doing it?”

“You want to have done it. Past tense. For it to be done and over with.”

“Yeah. I never get to make my own decisions. And there’s always a team of people with clipboards and earpieces ushering me from one thing to the next. There’s never time to process any of it and there’s never a point. It’ll happen no matter what. It happens and then it’s past tense. The before – the having a choice – is new.”

“You were never going to admit to the video, were you,” Simon said. It was worded like a question but delivered as a statement – a fact but not an accusation. Simon exhaled and drew his lips into a crooked half smile, half frown.

“I think you were just another one of those people ushering me through it.”

Simon looked down at his knees. “What about everything else? With us?”

“No! Simon, no. God no,” Wilhelm rushed out. His body lurched forward. He had to stop himself from leaping across the bed into Simon’s lap to squeeze him tight and keep him from running or retreating – tight enough to squeeze that thought from his mind. He understood how Simon could come to that conclusion. It crushed him. That should never be a possibility. “I wanted this. I wanted you.”

“Are you sure? Because it was a lot pretty fast and I just kind of went and…” Simon’s voice trailed off, retreating into a whisper.

“It was a lot. But I wanted every second of it. I typed and deleted so many texts because I wanted to talk to you but didn’t know what to say. The handling always makes me numb. But everything with us, made me feel the most alive I’ve ever felt. I’m sorry if my fumbling through it all made it unclear. But I wanted it.”  

Simon nodded, still looking down at his knees. He pulled in a breath. “Past tense?”

No. There was no way Simon could possibly think that but Wilhelm was happy to play along. Simon deserved it. “I want it. I want you.”

Simon looked up then and the gold flecks in his eyes burst like fireworks and he stretched his leg out beside Wilhelm’s. “See now I’m thinking you should skip the presentation and we should stay here.”

Wilhelm hummed in agreement and lulled his foot against the inside of Simon’s thigh. He was quite the troublemaker. It would be so easy. But Wilhelm reached across the bed for Simon’s hand and pulled him up. They gathered their things and Wilhelm carefully stacked his paper on top of his pile of books. Simon peaked over his shoulder and chuckled. “I can’t believe that’s actually what you titled it,” he said, looking down at the paper’s cover page. “If that gets out to the public somehow, you’re going to get cancelled.”

“It was taken out of context,” Wilhelm said in mock defence as he opened the door and stepped out into the hall.  

Simon laughed as he followed, pulling the door closed behind him.

“No but see it actually was taken out of context.”

Simon held his index finger and thumb in front of Wilhelm’s face. “That’s slightly better than it wasn’t me. Slightly.”

“The blow job was taken out of context. Is that what you wanted me to say?”

Simon snorted. “It would have been better.”

“Would it though?”

“The idiocy of it would have at least made me laugh.”

Wilhelm hummed and nodded. That was a decent argument. “I don’t think I avoided looking like an idiot.”

Simon scrunched his nose and shook his head. “No,” he said with a smile. “You didn’t.”

Wilhelm and Simon walked into class just as the bell rang. “Ah, His Royal Highness. Last one. That good start to the term has faded, I see,” Mrs. Evans said. “You’re up first.”

Simon mouthed him a sorry before dropping his paper in the hand in bin and hurrying to his seat. Mrs. Evans flashed Wilhelm a smile that seemed to be more of a gloat than a gesture of comfort and took her red marking binder and red marking pen to the empty desk at the back of the classroom. Wilhelm slipped his paper under Simon’s in the hand in bin and took his spot at the front of the room, between the projector screen and a room full of dull and heavy-lidded eyes. If only their disinterest would remain when he began talking. He already had Simon’s attention and that was the only attention he sought. Simon’s eyes were wide and deep and anchored Wilhelm until they disappeared in a blink behind the electric blue beam of the projector.

Wilhelm blinked again but the light did not switch off. It projected the first slide of his presentation onto his body – a pink triangle. His fingers twitched by his sides, around the bottom two points of the triangle. He swallowed and his Adam’s apple scraped the top point. If he ducked his head, it would pierce his throat.

Wilhelm stepped to the side, out of the direct beam but not entirely out of its glow. A blue halo buzzed around the strands of hair that hung in front of his eyes. He pushed the strands back on his head. He wasn’t going to live through hell just to get locked away again.

His heart pounded as he spoke and his voice raced to keep pace. It wasn’t the most eloquent but for once he was speaking his own words.

“I’ll end with a quote,” Wilhelm said. “From the father of computer science - a British war hero whose contributions single handedly shortened this war by two, three, years saving countless lives of prisoners, soldiers, and civilians – a felon convicted of acts of gross indecency for having sex with his boyfriend and committed suicide after enduring two years of government forced chemical castration – Alan Turing.

“We can only see a short distance ahead, but we can see plenty there that needs to be done.”

Felice was the first to clap when he finished. She sat on the far left of the classroom, out of the direct glare of the projector. She smiled brightly at him and Wilhelm took a deep breath. Maddison quickly joined Felice in applause, as did the rest of the class, still obscured behind the projector. Wilhelm strained to see Simon but the blue light was too bright and the room too dim. He blinked the blue spots on his retina away and turned back to the projector screen and the quote.

“I uh, I think he was talking about computers,” Wilhelm shrugged. “Oh well. He uh, talked about computers a lot.” Wilhelm clicked forward a slide. “This is actually my favorite Alan Turing quote. It’s from a letter he wrote to a friend.”

"I'm afraid that the following syllogism may be used by some in the future.

Turing believes machines think
Turing lies with men
Therefore machines do not think

Yours in distress,

-Alan”

“This appears to be both a computer science joke and a gay joke. Which is kind of amazing. And I’m definitely stealing his sign off.”

Simon laughed. Wilhelm still couldn’t see him but he could hear him. It was a sound he never wanted to forget. He didn’t think he ever could.

Wilhelm didn’t absorb anything from the other presentations. He picked at the hang nail on his thumb and replayed his own presentation in his head instead, bits where he stumbled over words or rushed through something he had meant to emphasize. He was the last to leave at the end of class. The lethargic applause after the final presentation melded with the rustle of end of class pack up and the bell and Wilhelm had failed to notice any of them.

Mrs. Evans stopped him before Wilhelm could catch up to everyone else. “Wilhelm, excellent work. I can see it was an important topic to you. I’m looking forward to reading your paper. Keep it up.”

“Thanks.” Wilhelm felt his cheeks flush and he nodded awkwardly before slipping out of the room. By the time he got to science though, Wilhelm was smiling.

Wilhelm led Beau into the riding ring for equestrian on Friday afternoon. He was surprised and disappointed to see that the jump course had been dismantled and a single low crossrail had been set up center ring instead.

“What’s going on?” Sara asked, walking in behind him.

“Don’t know,” Wilhelm said. He didn’t stay around to speculate. He didn’t know how to act around Sara. He didn’t want to be hostile. If Simon was now on good terms with him, it was almost certain he would be on good terms with his sister again eventually. Wilhelm didn’t want to do anything that would cause tension between the three of them down the road. Her betrayal felt personal to him though, and he had no intention of playing friends. She probably felt the same way about him at one point. What she thought of him now, after months of hooking up with August, Wilhelm didn’t want to know.

Wilhelm took Beau to the mounting block. Maddison followed with Kaiser. Felice stayed with Sara. It was unclear if it was her choice or Rousseau’s.

Maddison stopped Wilhelm before he climbed to two steps. “Actually, we get to go first.”

“Of course. Ladies first,” Wilhelm said stepping aside.

Maddison shook her head. “While I appreciate the chivalry, this isn’t about me. It’s about him,” she said, nodding to her horse. “Kaiser outranks you.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“It is. I looked it up.”

“Maybe my mum’s right. Maybe I don’t pay enough attention to protocol.”

“You should bow to him.”

Wilhelm turned to face Kaiser front on. He was handsome enough to hold a regal title. His coat was a rich chestnut, and his mane and tail were glossy and black. Wilhelm placed two fingers on the brim of his helmet and dipped his head.

“Hmm.” Maddison twisted her lips. “We’ll have to work on that.”  

“What happens when I become King?”

“You’ll still have to bow to him. He’s been Kaiser longer,” Maddison said, not missing a beat as she swung her leg over the saddle.

“I think humans outrank animals.”

“Sara would disagree.”

Across the ring, Sara was currently allowing Rousseau to lick her face. An image of her making out with August popped into Wilhelm’s head – August looming and sweaty and greasy and slobbery. He hoped Sara didn’t look as happy with August as she did with Rousseau. But then again, August was no better than an animal.

“Not you though,” Wilhelm said to Beau after Maddison and Kaiser had started a lazy plot around the ring. “Don’t worry. You’re way better than August.”

Mr. Cleasson walked in shortly after everyone had mounted. “I hope you all had a chance to practice on the course because we’re going to work on something new today. Wilhelm, what lead does Beau pick up after a jump?”

“The same lead as before the jump.”

“Right. Good. Felice, what about Rousseau?”

“Oh, uh, right?” Felice said.

“Rousseau heavily favours his right lead,” Sara added.

“Right, okay. What does this mean?” Mr. Claesson’s question was met with silence. “It means they can pick up either lead after a jump. And if they pick up the next lead, you can save time by not having to go through the trot transition. Faster, smoother ride.”

After the standard warm up, Mr. Claesson took them in pairs to practise. They cantered a figure eight pattern around the ends of ring and over the crossrail in the center. They did three circuits as they normally would to get the horses used to pattern. Mr. Claesson stood by the edge of the ring, in-line with the jump to watch. He leaned against the wall and used his cane to indicate direction like an airplane ground crew.

Okay, Wilhelm, this time pull the left reign as you go over. Not too hard. And not before the jump. Look left. On a course you’ll want to look towards the next jump. This requires good reign management. You can’t let them fall loose or you lose contact and control.”

Wilhelm did as told. Or he tried.

“Check your lead,” Mr. Claesson said when Beau landed.

Wilhelm leaned forward. Beau’s front right leg still landed in front of his left. Wilhelm pulled him back and completed the normal transition.

“Good. Always check and correct it right away. It’ll take time for him to learn the signals.”

They managed it only twice before Mr. Claesson swapped out students but the second time, Wilhelm had failed to spot it before pulling Beau back to a trot. It was a bit of a mess. He was sending mixed signals, leaving Beau confused and frustrated.

“I’ll see where everyone’s at and then we can add another aid for those who need it,” Mr. Claesson said.

Wilhelm nodded and took Beau to the side for stretches. Instead of halting when Wilhelm pulled on the reigns, Beau backed up several steps. He spun in a circle when Wilhelm leaned over to touch his toes. “Why are you being fidgety?” Wilhelm asked. He knew why though. Beau thought he was being good. He was doing what he’d been taught, what he’s been doing for years, but suddenly it was wrong.

“You okay, Wilhelm?” Felice asked. She had hopped off Rousseau and handed him of to Sara.

Wilhelm sighed. He dismounted, wrapped the reigns around the metal railing on the side of the bleachers, and joined Felice.

“You’ll get it,” she said.

Wilhelm looked over at Beau and nodded. Beau was the one constant in his life. He turned back to Felice. “You can call me Wille, you know.”

Felice turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Simon calls you Wille.” She said it as if it was obvious.

“Yeah… so?”

Felice smiled. She ducked her head and slipped her hands between her knees.

“What?”

“Don’t you want or like having your boyfriend have his own nick name for you?”

Wilhelm chuckled and bumped his shoulder into hers. “Is that what you want?”

Felice shrugged.

Wilhelm took that as a yes. “But uh, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well that’s only a matter of time.”

It was nice that someone else thought they would inevitably end up together. Simon wouldn’t like it but Simon didn’t need to know. “But also, Erik called me Wille. And August calls me Wille.”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah. So, you know, another person might help dilute August’s… inclusion? Contribution? I don’t know. Whatever. But we’re friends so…”

Felice nodded and smiled “Yeah. Okay.”

As Sara completed the exercise on Rousseau with ease, Mr. Claesson left his post and walked over to the bleachers. “Felice, I received the entry forms for the competition at the end of the month. As standard, each horse can only be entered once. It’s up to you if you want to enter yourself or if you want to let Sara enter with Rousseau. She’s good with him but he’s your horse. Let me know by the end of next week. And Wilhelm,” Mr. Claesson added, tapping Wilhelm’s ridding boot with his cane. “Stretches.”

Wilhelm swiveled and swung his leg up on the next row of seats. His hamstrings protested from that alone but he leaned forward to touch his toes anyways.

“What are you smiling at?” Felice asked.

Simon. And his windowsill. And last weekend. “Nothing,” Wilhelm said, biting away the smile. He nodded to Mr. Claesson as he crossed back across the ring to his post. “What’re you going to do?”

“A month ago I would have sat out and let Sara enter no question but now I don’t know. I think he wants me to let her enter. He just can’t say so.”

“Maybe.”

“I just..” Felice started and stopped and lowered her voice even further. “I liked hanging out with her. She was a good friend. Maybe she still is. I don’t know. And I’m trying to be there for her. Simon’s still not talking to her. But I just don’t get how she could do that. She doesn’t seem sorry either. Maybe that’s the autism. Like she doesn’t express emotion the typical way. I don’t know. Riding is like all she has but maybe that’s just because the horses have no idea what’s actually going on.”

“You wouldn’t be taking riding away from her. It’s one, very low stakes, local competition. The first place prize in a plastic trophy. And you’re getting better too,” Wilhelm said.

“Ha. I have no hope. Don’t even try.”

“I say enter yourself. Sometimes you have to put yourself first and not worry about the expectations of others. But then again, Simon thinks I’m entitled.”

Chapter Text

Wilhelm’s phone chimed Friday night as he got back to his dorm from showering. It was from Simon.
How was equestrian?

Frustrating. Worrying. Discouraging. Wilhelm didn’t want to say that though. Simon didn’t usually text to ask him about riding. Wilhelm didn’t want to unload on him if he actually wanted to talk about something else. It was also hard to explain to someone who didn’t ride themselves.
Fine.

Simon:
Sara said you were having a rough time. She was kind of gloating about it.

Well that made everything worse. Wilhelm pushed his wet hair back and sunk down on his bed.
Great… I wasn’t the only one. We’re doing new lead changes. It takes a while for the horses to learn. Mr. Claesson is coming in tomorrow to give us extra help. I’d have to skip rowing practise though so I don’t know.

Simon:
You tell Leo yet?

Wilhelm:
No. I was hoping you could.

Simon:
Ha. No way!

Wilhelm smiled. He was going to go talk to Leo tonight. He just wanted to see Simon’s reaction. His empathy to Wilhelm’s plight only went so far. Though their relationship had evolved greatly since Christmas break, some things were the same and there was something comforting about that.

Simon:
You should skip rowing and do your riding. Maybe I’ll skip too and sleep in.

Wilhelm:
No, you have to go. Leo will be more pissed if we both skip. We can hang out after. 

Simon:
Fine.

Wilhelm suspected Simon was more enthused than his response implied and he smiled as he walked down the hall to Leo’s room.

Mr. Claesson tapped his cane against Beau’s stall door as Wilhelm was tacking up Saturday morning. “I’m glad you came,” he said. “You get this, and you’ve got a great shot at winning.”

“Thanks.” Wilhelm said.

“I’m afraid it’s not all encouragement. I need a hand. Can you grab me a haybale from the loft. I can’t quite manage it with my knee.”

“Sure.”

“Bring it into the ring.”

Wilhelm climbed the steep wooden steps opposite Beau’s stall. The haybale was heavy. He could lift it but it awkward. He dragged the bale back to the stairs before he thought better and turned to drag it to the hole over Beau’s stall. He leaned over to make sure Beau wasn’t standing directly underneath and then kicked the haybale through. It landed with a thud and was accompanied by a spooked neigh.

“Sorry,” he called down.  

In the thirty seconds it took for Wilhelm to descend the stairs, Beau recovered from the startle and was muzzle deep in the hay. He had managed to chew off an entire corner. Maybe the neigh wasn’t spooked. Maybe it was gratitude. Or maybe it was spooked and this was Beau’s reward for putting up with Wilhelm.

“Not for you,” Wilhelm said as he pushed Beau’s head away so he could drag the haybale out to the ring. Beau followed him to the stall door and got himself another mouthful. “You’re as bad as Simon.” At least it was lighter now.

“Stable boy is a good look for you,” Maddison said as Wilhelm dragged the haybale past the crossties. She and Kaiser were they only other ones who took Mr. Claesson up on the extra lesson. “Are you trying to impress Simon by getting a blue-collar job.”

“I think I need to focus on coming out first.”

Maddison laughed.

The ring looked the same, clear except for the single jump in the center. Mr. Claesson was adjusting the rails. He hung a single level rail across the front and a high rail off the back left post that cut down to the ground at a sharp angle. A horse couldn’t jump it straight without knocking the back rail. They had to jump at an angle. Mr. Claesson had Wilhelm place what remained of the haybale behind the jump, just off center to the left which blocked the straight path even further.

“This will force the line and the lead should follow,” Mr. Claesson said, taking up post behind the haybale.   

They started in a simple clockwise circle, right lead into the jump and right lead out. It was the only choice for the horses unless they wanted to knock the crossrail and land headfirst in the haybale. Despite Beau’s adamant interest in a snack earlier, he was avoiding the haybale now.

“Start giving the horses the signal now. Get them use to it. It shouldn’t be big and dramatic.”

Left leg back. Tighten the right reign. Look right.

“Your horse can feel the weight shift when you turn your head. They know where you’re looking.”

Wilhelm figured it was the helmets. They had to add an extra five pounds and always felt wobbly despite being fitted and buckled.

After several laps, they changed the approach. Canter counterclockwise around the other end of the ring on the left lead, take the jump, still equipped with obstacles, and land on the right lead. Beau stopped in front of the jump on the first attempt. The jump was set low so they weren’t going very fast and Wilhelm managed to remain seated instead of tumbling over his neck.

“That’s okay,” Mr. Claesson said. “Go again. Guide him a little more right of center.”

Wilhelm nodded and patted Beau’s neck. “Better to stop than to land in the haybale or trample the instructor.”

“Is that how you busted your leg?” Maddison asked. “Standing behind a jump and getting plowed by a horse that didn’t understand the assignment.”

Wilhelm whipped his head to Maddison and stared at her wide eyed. Felice would have chewed her out for asking such a question. Wilhelm was too stunned to say anything.

“No, Maddison. I took a bad fall. It wasn’t anything extraordinary. I just landed weird. It ended my riding career but I was never that good so really, the fall put me out of my misery.”

“Like when a horse breaks their leg and they shoot him.”

“Jesus, Maddison!” Wilhelm said.

“I was a joke. I’m not the one shooting anyone.”    

Wilhelm leaned over and scratched behind Beau’s ears. “Don’t break your leg,” he whispered. “Stop and send me flying. I’ll break mine.”

Beau neighed and shook his head.  

The second time around, Wilhelm willed himself not to look at the angled crossrail, or haybale, or Mr. Claesson standing behind it with his cane outstretch unnecessarily signalling the direction of the course. He looked right. He pulled right. And Beau jumped and turned right on the correct lead.

The competition was on Sunday. Friday after class, Simon followed Wilhelm to the dorms so Wilhelm could drop off his school things before meeting the girls and walking down to the bus stop. On the way back down the hall, Wilhelm stopped just before Henry’s room. Wilhelm pointed to the open door and looked to Simon. Simon shrugged and nodded so Wilhelm stepped forward and knocked on the frame.

Henry looked up from his phone. He was standing in his boxers with a pair of grey sweatpants pulled halfway up one leg as if his phone had distracted him in middle of changing out of his jeans. “Hi Wilhelm,” he said, seemingly unphased. He kept his eyes on Wilhelm as he stepped into the other leg and pulled the sweatpants up completely, as if scared he would disappear.

“You want to come into town? We’re going to the pizzeria for dinner. Simon says it’s good. Felice and Maddison are coming too.”

“Yeah, definitely!”

“Great. We’re heading out now.” Henry shucked the grey sweatpants and pulled his jeans back on. As they walked down the hall Wilhelm asked “Do you have the transit app? We’re just taking the bus.”

“Yeah. Shit, I got to find it though,” Henry said thumbing through his phone. “I haven’t used it in ages.”

Wilhelm caught Simon’s side glare and pulled his mouth down in a grimace – a silent apology.

The girls were waiting by the main entrance with Sara. As they filed out the door, Maddison skipped over to Wilhelm. “You were always my favourite royal,” she whispered before scooping her arm through Henry’s.

“Maybe I should have warned him,” Wilhelm said to Simon.

“Nah. If he can’t handle himself, he needs to learn.”

The two of them trailed the group down the path to the bus stop. It had been a month since the August and Sara situation had exploded. August had become simultaneously more hated but also more irrelevant to Wilhelm and possibly to the wider student body. He had been punched square in the face multiple times by the Crown Prince. At an elite, upper class, boarding school, that held weight. He was holed up in his room most of the time. Wilhelm hadn’t seen him all week. In another month, August would graduate and be gone from Hillerska and Wilhelm’s life, bar the occasional palace event. And at that point, Wilhelm didn’t care. August could continue being an elitist snake or he could learn and grow and build a fulfilling life elsewhere. As long as Wilhelm wasn’t involved, it didn’t matter.

Sara, on the other hand, was more complicated. Living in the same household had forced Simon to tolerate Sara’s presence but beyond that, their relationship still faltered. Despite the rift, Simon had agreed to come to the equestrian shop in town with them Friday provided dinner at the pizzeria was included.

Wilhelm turned to Simon with a proud smile when he successfully scanned the transit app on his phone on the first try. Simon rolled his eyes.

The equestrian shop was small and the floors were beige linoleum instead of polished mahogany like the shop in Stockholm. With the fluorescent lights and aisles of grooming products, it looked similar to a drug store. Wilhelm picked up basket at the front of the store and loaded it with six boxes of mane and tail dye.

“He’s going to look like My Little Pony,” Simon said, picking through the boxes in the basket.

“That’s kind of the point,” Wilhelm said.

“He’s so pretty though.”

“It’ll wash out.”

“If I were him, I’d deliberately throw you off.”

“Well unlike you, he loves me.” Wilhelm had turned away from Simon to continue down the aisle to the bags of mane elastics. He made it several steps before he realized what he had said. It shouldn’t be a big deal. It was a joke. Wilhelm was referring more to that fact that they were just friends and weren’t dating than the moment in the front courtyard before Christmas break. On the surface, they seemed like the same thing but to Wilhelm they felt very different. He turned back around. Simon’s eyes snapped down to his feet and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Footsteps rounded the corned behind Wilhelm. “Who needs 500 elastics?” Felice said.

“We can share,” Wilhelm said.

“Great.” She tossed the bag at him. Wilhelm caught it against his chest and turned back to Simon. Simon had wandered away and was standing near the front of the store with Henry. Wilhelm had what he needed and made his way towards them and the checkout.

“I thought we were getting pizza?” Henry said to Simon. 

“Don’t worry. I’m also only here for the pizza. There will be pizza.”

And pizza there was. They were seated in a booth towards the back of the restaurant, Wilhelm, Simon, and Felice on one side, and Henry, Maddison, and Sara on the other. Malin sat down facing the door at the small table for two beside the booth. “I knew it. She does sit,” Maddison said.

“She also lies down. And sleeps,” Wilhelm said.

“Shifty,” Madison said.

The waitress stopped at Malin’s table first but Malin waved her off. She stepped up to the booth next. “How is everyone’s day going?”

A combination of good and fine were mumbled around the table. Wilhelm watched the moment she recognized him. It was always the same. She stood up straighter and stiffer. Her work smile faltered as she tried to determine how to act. Bow? Curtsey? Title? Wilhelm was well familiar with the overwhelming complexities of the crown. He saw himself in every person who stumbled upon sight of him. He smiled. “How’s your shift going?”  

Her smile returned. It didn’t look as fake anymore. “Good. The usual. Friday’s always busy.” She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and attempted to smooth it into place.   

“Well we won’t keep you then,” Wilhelm said before hurrying everyone along to place their order.

“I’ll get these in right away,” she said.

“Perfect,” Wilhelm said.

She curtsied before walking away. Or some awkward, unsure and uncommitted, half bow, half curtsey. Simon snickered once she was out of ear shot, followed by Maddison.

“Stop.” Wilhelm said, stifling his own bemusement. “She’s just trying not to get fired for offending the crown.”

“No, I’m laughing at you,” Simon said.

“Oh. Woops. I was laughing at her,” Maddison said, mimicking the waitress’s stuttering head bow. That got a laugh out of Henry which served only to encourage. Felice tossed a napkin across the table at Maddison in protest but even she was struggling to contain her giggles.

“We won’t keep you then,” Simon mocked, turning his attention back to Wilhelm. “Is that your best Prince Charming?”

“I’m just being polite. Trying to put her at ease. If I ignored her, it would have been all over twitter tomorrow.”

“She should be uneasy,” Simon countered. “Playing Prince Charming sanitizes the crown as an institution and the economic harm your family has done and is doing.”

“Okay, but if people can’t see all that beyond ‘How’s your shift going?’ I think that’s a them problem. I can’t help it if people are that dumb.”

“People are incredibly dumb. But you shouldn’t take advantage of that.”

“That’s the entire premise of capitalism.”

“Oh don’t worry, capitalism is also on my hit list.”

Wilhelm stuck out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “I thought I was the only one on your hit list. I thought I was special.”

Simon smiled at him. “See, there you go. Your need to be special.”

When the pizza arrived, Simon put three slices on his plate and doused them ranch sauce. He offered the bottle to Wilhelm but Wilhelm shook his head. “I’ll pass. That’s disgusting.”

“Be happy he’s not putting ketchup on it,” Sara said. She unwrapped her utensil set and placed the napkin on her lap before cutting into her slice with the knife and fork. 

Simon glared back at her. He picked up a slice of pizza with his hands and took a large bite possibly to stop himself from saying something that would escalate the situation. Wilhelm rested his leg against Simon’s and proceeded to pick up and eat his own slice. It could hardly be considered an act of solidarity though considering Wilhelm had no intention of using utensils. When he filled his plate with seconds, Wilhelm reached across Simon for the ranch bottle where he had tucked it away for his own use. Wilhelm squirted a dollop on the edge of his plate. He dipped the tip of a slice into the sauce and took a bite. He shook his head. It was sour and overpowering.

“No?” Simon asked.

“No.”

Simon grabbed the bottle back. “Good. More for me.”

“Malin?” Maddison asked.

“Mm,” Malin said, acknowledging her without taking her eyes off the door.

“Have you ever shot anyone?”

“What?” Wilhelm said in surprise. 

“Maddison!” Felice admonished.

Malin didn’t seem to mind the question and she calmly answered “Yes.”

“Knew it!” Maddison said.

“Wait, what?” Wilhelm said. “When?”

“Previous job.”

Simon leaned in close to Wilhelm and asked “What was her previous job?” Wilhelm shook his head. He had no idea. She had been Erik’s bodyguard since he started school.

“Do you carry a gun?” Maddison asked.

“I’m not at liberty to disclose.”

“That means yes,” Maddison whispered to the table.

“Best not try anything,” Malin said.

Henry raised his hands, palms out in surrender. Maddison and Felice did the same. Simon moved his leg away from Wilhelm’s under the table. Wilhelm couldn’t decide if the gun made him feel more safe or less. 

“Ow!” Simon gasped at Sara. He leaned down and rubbed his shin under the table. “What was that for?”

Sara looked wide eyed at the door. “Why’s he here?”

Wilhelm turned around. Micke had walked in and was talking to the cashier.  

“Shit,” Simon muttered.

“Are you talking to him again? Mum said you weren’t allowed. Did you tell him we’d be here?”

Wilhelm cringed. Sara had no concept of discretion or subtlety. He tilted his knee against Simon’s under the table.

“No, Sara. I’m not talking to him and I didn’t tell him we’d be here.”

“Then why is he here?”

“Getting pizza? It’s a restaurant. He lives like two blocks over.”

“Well he better not come over here.”

“Too late,” Maddison said.

They had been spotted and Micke, head down and hands in pockets, was making his way over to their booth.

Simon was trapped. He squared his shoulders to look tough but in sitting up straight against the back of the booth, he had tucked himself behind Wilhelm and out of his father’s sightline. His leg bounced against Wilhelm’s, itching to make a stand or to flee but from where he sat, Simon could do neither. Micke was unstable and unpredictable and somehow Sara had made it her little brother’s responsibility to intervene and corral him.

Before Micke could reach their table, Malin slid the empty chair at her table out with her foot to block his path in subtle warning. Micke stopped in front of the chair but did not retreat. 

“Hi,” he said. “Simon. Sara. It’s good to see you.”

Sara did not acknowledge him. She kept her head down and her eyes pointedly on Simon.

“Hi,” Simon said. Wilhelm placed his hand on Simon’s leg to steady its bounce. “We were just finishing up. They have to get back to school. For curfew.”

“Are you going to introduce me?”

“Another time. We have to get going.”

“You and Sara don’t have to run off. You could pop over and hang out.”

Sara, still refusing to look at Micke, shook her head. Maddison’s eyes flicked around the table and landed on Felice. Felice turned to Wilhelm and he understood her pointed stare. He had to do something.

Wilhelm stood up and stepped behind the chair, in between Micke and the table. “You should leave,” he said.

Malin stood up as well. Micke quickly put his hands up in surrender but the tone in his voice was still hostile. “Hey. Come on. I’m just saying hi. I can’t say hi.”

“You should leave,” Wilhelm repeated.

Micke took a step back and really looked at Wilhelm then, instead of stretching his neck around him to Simon. Wilhelm easily matched him in height, but Micke had broad shoulders and a volatile temperament. Wilhelm watched as recognition slowly pushed through Micke’s glassy eyes and he licked a leer onto his lips. “Oh. Look who’s suddenly interested in playing boyfriend? You weren’t interested when that video got out. You ran away pretty quick then. And who do you think stood by his side? His family. His father.”

“Dad. Stop,” Simon said. “You’re scaring everyone.”

“Who? Your new rich friends? The Crown Prince? That’s quite the secret you’re keeping.”

“You’re scaring your own kids,” Wilhelm said. “They don’t want to talk to you. They don’t want to hang out. Simon was trying to convey that tactfully, but you refused to listen so now we’re here. Simon told you to stop and I told you to leave. Go.”

The cashier called out Micke’s order. He huffed a breath, shoved his hands back in his pockets, and backed away. Wilhelm remained standing guard until Micke had paid, collected his pizza, and left the restaurant. By that time, Wilhelm had managed to pull the attention of the staff and other patrons. There was a tug on his sleave then, Simon, pulling him back into the booth. Wilhelm stepped back and slid in beside him.

They left shortly after. Wilhelm grabbed the door and held it for the group. Simon was the last to file out. His pace slowed when he saw Sara waiting for him, arms crossed over her chest. Felice pulled her away before she could say anything. Simon and Wilhelm dallied and let the others get ahead. Malin hovered somewhere in between. The cloud cover had darkened the sky earlier than usual for mid April.  

“You okay?” Wilhelm asked.

“Sara’s pissed.”

“That’s not your problem.”

“I can’t go anywhere without fear that he’ll show up. And if people didn’t think we were trailer trash before, they do now.” Simon waved his hand towards their friends, and they continued to fidget at his sides.

“I don’t think that. He’s not your problem and his issues don’t reflect on you, especially if you’re trying to distance yourself from him. Half of the kids at school have alcoholic parents. They just have the money to clean up behind themselves. And I think you handled all that really well. They could all see it too. He’s the one who chose not to listen.”

“I don’t need you to play Prince Charming.” Simon didn’t sound angry. Shaken, maybe. Uncomfortable. Mildly annoyed. In the need to make a point. But not angry so Wilhelm didn’t jump straight to an apology.    

“I wasn’t playing anything.”

“It seems that way. Especially to him and everyone else. I hate that he has a point. It’s just one more thing he can throw at me.”

“I can’t change the video or the aftermath. That’s one dragon I can’t slay-”

Simon snorted. “You couldn’t slay any dragon.”

“I punched August square in the face.”

“Umm you said August was a troll, therefore not a dragon. And he’s still alive.”

“Okay so this was a metaphor. There’s no need to pick it a part. My point was, there’s nothing anyone can do about the video now. He only has a point because the video is all anyone knows. If we keep going though, doing… this – whatever this is – then that point will get smaller and smaller.”

“This?” Simon said. “This isn’t a thing. And it’s not going anywhere because of who you are.”  

Wilhelm disagreed. He suspected Simon did as well. The little white man at the cross walk disappeared and was replaced by the flashing red hand. Their friends had already made it across. Malin was halfway. They could still make it before the light turned. They probably wouldn’t even need to run. Wilhelm stopped though and took a step back from the curb. He sucked in a breath and rocked back on his heels. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

Simon stepped in front of Wilhelm and turned around to face him square on. “You have a bone to pick with me?”  

“Yes. No one wants me to be King. It wasn’t my birth right but Erik’s gone and here we are. My mum saw everything in him and nothing in me. The nation thinks I go to clubs and get in fights and am hooking up with half the school. I’m reckless and immature and a liar and a coward. I can see it in their eyes. They look at me searching for Erik and come up disappointed. And then to top it all off, the universe threw the gay thing at me giving everyone a convenient excuse. What good is a King if he can’t have heirs. But you, you’re the only one that isn’t looking for Erik. You’re the only one that sees me and believes in me and that makes me think I can do this. But then you begin spouting your anti-monarchist rhetoric. Even you’re against me.”

Simon looked down at his feet and then somewhere over Wilhelm’s shoulder, back up the street. “I’m not against you. It’s not personal.”

Wilhelm nodded. The light had changed back and the white man had reappeared. Malin was waiting on the other side of the street. The others were already through the next crosswalk. “I’m going to do this. My mother was taken, my childhood, my brother, my dignity, my boyfriend, everything. I’m not letting anyone take the crown.”

Simon chewed his bottom lip.

“I just need you to know that,” Wilhelm said. He pushed the hair back from his face then grabbed Simon’s hand and pulled. “Come on. Don’t want to miss another light.”

They jogged across the street and Malin started walking again. When they reached the other side and slowed to a walk, Wilhelm relaxed his fingers to let go. Simon squeezed tighter. Wilhelm looked around. A car drove past and another was approaching. There was a man walking his dog up a head and a middle-aged couple on the other side of the street. In the crosswalk he had an excuse, there was context, as thinly veiled as it was. Now there was nothing other than two boys holding hands. Wilhelm took and breath and laced his fingers through Simon’s as if that was his intention all along. Simon wouldn’t buy it but he would mind either, for now at least.

“Thank-you,” Simon said.

“Can I ask you something?” Wilhelm said.

“You can ask.

“How did you come out? To you family and friends.”

“Oh.” Simon looked down at his feet. “It was a bit of a mess.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Simon shook his head. He looked down the street, towards the others. “I told Sara first. I was thirteen. Micke was high. Or in withdrawal. I don’t know. He and Mama were yelling at each other in the kitchen. It was getting scary. A dish shattered. He was slamming his fist on the table. Sara was hiding with me in my room. She was shaking and crying. She started to hyperventilate. And I just blurted it out as a way to distract to her. And myself too, I guess.”

“That’s awful,” Wilhelm said. Erik would often find ways to entertain Wilhelm during tedious state events, or excuses for the two of them to sneak off. He never had to distract Wilhelm from abuse.

Simon shrugged. “It worked. By the time we went through the list of cute boys at school and cute boys on tv, the yelling had stopped. Mama managed to kick him out for the night.”

Wilhelm knocked his should into Simon’s. “Who was on the list?”

Simon returned the shoulder knock and rolled his eyes. When his eyes stilled, they held Wilhelm’s for a moment, caught in the glow of a streetlamp. They were gold and Wilhelm wanted to kiss him and make him forget every single one of those boys at school and on tv.

They stepped out of the streetlamp light and Simon turned away. “I guess it’s better than a sex tape,” he said. “But sometimes it feels like it wasn’t entirely my choice, you know. Maybe it never really is though.”

The atmosphere at the competition stadium was far more chaotic than Wilhelm had anticipated. It was an amateur event organized for the kids who rode at the local stables to showcase their progress to their parents. Maybe that’s exactly why it was chaotic. The kids didn’t seem to know what to do or where to go and each of them tugged a three-hundred-kilogram animal prone to spooking at sudden movement or loud noises behind them. Wilhelm tucked himself and Beau behind the warmup ring. The advanced category was scheduled last and Wilhelm was the final rider, an act of reverence that set him up to be a very anticlimactic, disappointing, and embarrassing finally.

Felice found him. “They posted the course,” she said and shoved her cell phone in his face.

Wilhelm took the phone and focused on the picture. There were twelve jumps. The stadium was twice as wide as their school ring. The course started on the left. Down the vertical at the top of the course, down the vericle in the center, down the Swedish oxer at the bottom. There was then a hard right-hand u-turn to go up the triple combination on the edge of the course and then up to the wall and the oxer back at the top. This was followed by another hard u-turn, this time left, to go down the vertical, and then cut left across the ring to the right side, over the oxer in the center. Then there was a loop around the double combination to the right and snake across the bottom of the course over another oxer and a vertical, before finishing with the double combination and the final oxer up the right side of the ring along the spectator stands.

“It’s a weird course,” Wilhelm said. He traced his finger over the route and counted. “Only four lead changes. But the turns are tight.”

“Mr. Claesson said focus on your line. He said there’s plenty of time in the first round. A clean ride is more important. No need to cut corners.”

“Right,” Wilhelm said, raising an eyebrow.

“I know. Easier said than done.”

“There’s a wall,” Wilhelm said. “We haven’t done those.”

“Rousseau’s going to flip.”

“Wait, there’s a water feature too.”

“That’s not part of the course.”

“Why is it on the map then?”

“They can’t fill in the pond and re-dig it every time, Wilhelm.”

“Right,” he said.

“Relax, you’ll be fine. Simon’s here.”

“What?”

“Sara came to watch. I guess he tagged along.” She nudged him. “Or maybe it was the other way around.”

“She’s probably hoping you’ll duck out last minute.”

“Stop,” Felice said with a laugh. “She’s not vindictive.”

“No?”

“Come on, we should get in position.”

They found the group of maroon riding blazers from Hillerska in the holding area. Maddison laughed as they approached. “Sorry,” she said, petting Beau’s nose. “I keep forgetting how ridiculous he looks.”

“Hey!” Wilhelm protested in Beau’s defence. Or, his own defence. Beau’s rainbow mane and tail popped against the rest of his white coat and drew attention amongst the standard, brown, black, and grey.

“He clashes with the maroon jacket,” Felice said, taking Rousseau’s reigns back from Sara.  

“Political statements are not fashion shows,” Wilhelm argued. He looked around for Simon expecting him be hanging out with Sara considering, as Felice had put it, he tagged along. He wasn’t with the Hillerska group though.

“I actually disagree,” Felice said. “Bra burning during the women’s liberation movement. The rise of denim as a rejection of the class structure. Natural hair,” she said, pumping the voluminous, curly, pigtails that framed her face below her helmet. “A protest of-”

“White people,” Maddison interjected.

“I was going to say colonialism. But yes, I suppose,” Felice continued. “And any form of pro government nationalism comes decked in military uniforms. Which, you know, can be quite fashionable.”

Maddison nodded and hummed in mock interest.

“You’re not allowed to make political statements,” Sara said to Wilhelm.  

He smiled. “Oops.”

A little girl in a pink riding helmet ran over then, straight past Wilhelm, directly to Beau. The girl’s mother called after her. Rousseau neighed at the sudden commotion and hooved at the ground. Sara took hold of Rousseau’s bridle and placed her hand over his muzzle. Felice let Sara lead him away and Wilhelm had an urge to warm her that she might not get Rousseau back. The little girl interrupted him though. “She's so pretty.” She reached up pet Beau. Beau ducked down to meet her outstretch hand.

“He, actually,” Wilhelm said. “And I’m glad someone thinks so.”

“Is he a unicorn?” she asked, twirling her fingers in the rainbow strands of Beau’s forelock that hung down between his eyes.  

“No. That would be cool though. I might tell my mum that.” Wilhelm said.

“He’s a political statement,” Maddison said.

The girl looked up at Maddison with furrowed eyebrows. Her neck was cranked back abnormally far to see beyond the helmet brim. When Maddison offered no further explanation – thankfully –  she pivoted back to Wilhelm. “Is he yours?”

“Yup,” Wilhelm nodded.

“Lucky. Are you riding this afternoon? I rode this morning.”

Wilhelm nodded. “How did you do?”

She pointed at the blue ribbon pinned on her jacket. “I got a ribbon.”   

“That’s great! Congratulations.”

The mother caught up then with a series of admonishments about being careful and not getting kicked. She began to apologize on behalf of her daughter when she recognized Wilhelm. Her sentence trailed off in a stutter. She stood up straighter and took a half step back. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Wilhelm and Beau. She smiled, maybe. It was hard to discern as she wrangled her daughter away. “Wish them luck. We can go watch in the stands.”

“That was a participation ribbon,” Maddison said once they were out of earshot.

“Ooh good. I’m going to get me one of those,” Felice said.

Mr. Claesson hobbled up then. “Alright, enough chit chat. Do you know the course? Recite it to me.”

The Hillerska contingent launched into a series of up this and down that, tracing the course in the air with their fingers as if conducting and orchestra.

“Hmmm,” Mr. Claesson grumbled when they finished. He raised an eyebrow, skeptical, as if they knew the words but didn’t really know the course. “Don’t just look at the course map. Watch the other riders. You get a full minute in the ring before you have to take the first jump. That’s a long time. Take that time to go over the course again while you pace out some of those turns.”

When it was finally Wilhelm’s turn, that minute felt both impossibly long and short.  

The announcer’s voice rang from speakers throughout the stadium. “And last up in our advanced under eighteen group is His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Wilhelm and Beau. Prince Wilhelm is joining us, along with his classmates who we saw ride earlier, from Hillerska Boarding School. I must say, Beau is sporting a very colourful if not unconventional look. It certainly makes a statement. Let’s see if they can make an equally impactful statement on our course. Six riders have cleared into the jump off. Will we have seven?”

Two of those six were Klara and Maddison. Felice had completed the course but not in the time allotted and had several faults and a refusal. She wasn’t alone though. A couple riders bowed out half-way through, one after her horse had simply plowed through the jump eight rails without bothering to jump. Wilhelm had laughed. Not at rider but at the situation and the horse who seemingly realized there was no reason to jump. The rails were not affixed to the standards. They balanced precariously in shallow cups designed to breakaway and drop the rails when applied with pressure. If the goal was to get to the other side of the jump, charging straight through it was the easiest option. There was an absurdity to all this. That was the case with most sports though or human activity in general.

Wilhelm passed the previous rider as he was riding out of the ring. He couldn’t remember the boy’s name but he had also cleared the first round and with the best time so far. The boy bowed his head slightly as they passed. Wilhelm nodded his head in return. He scanned the stands for Simon. He still hadn’t seen him even though Felice said he came. The stands were too far away and there were too many people. The jumbotron caught Wilhelm’s attention then. Cameras followed him around the stadium. He tried to find them. Tucked in the decorative flowers framing the jump standards? Next to the announcer’s podium? No. Well maybe. Wilhelm just couldn’t see them. They could see him though and they were close. Too close. Wilhelm felt like the spectators could read his thoughts, could see him counting paces, could see his concern over the tight corners and the wall jump.

Then he saw countdown timer. Fifteen seconds. Fourteen. He had to start. He asked Beau for a canter and took him across the ring to the first jump. Beau steadily picked up his pace, eager to stretch out his legs after a morning of being shuffled around. Wilhelm knew he should pull Beau back but there were too many other things to think about – heals down, grip with his knees, reigns tight, elbows in, back straight, stay seated, steer towards the center of jump one, and then find the line to jump two.

Beau cleared the first jump with ease. At a quick glance, the first three jumps appeared to be in a straight line. Looks could be deceptive though. Wilhelm could see a slight S bend in their alignment. Making the first lead change between jump two and three, instead of waiting would simplify the u-turn. As Beau leapt with his front legs over jump two, Wilhelm tightened the right reign and exaggerated his own head turn. On landing, Wilhelm immediately looked down over Beau’s right shoulder. It took a couple paces, for Wilhelm to feel the rhythm and match it what he was seeing, but he could see it, Beau had switched leads. Wilhelm turned his focus back to jump three. Beau had already locked onto it. It was too late to slow him down. It would mess up the pacing he had already set for himself, cause his footing to stutter. Beau took the third jump with the same ease as the first two and Wilhelm pulled him through the u-turn. They arced wider than they should have. They had too much speed. Beau resisted the turn. His head pulled towards the outer stadium wall.

“See it,” Wilhelm willed. They were past the center line to the jump four combination. “See it.”

Wilhelm swore he saw Beau’s ear twitch back towards him and then his head turned inwards, followed by his hooves, and Wilhelm didn’t have to pull as hard. Their line still wasn’t straight. And he had pulled Beau back too much that they lost speed by the third set of rails in the combination. The jump was jerky and stilted. The ease of the first three jumps was gone. Wilhelm listened for the knock of hooves clipping the rail. That would be it. It would be over. Riders needed a clean ride to advance into the jump off. There was only the muffled thud of hooves on grass.

Wilhelm picked his head up. The wall was next. Neither he, nor Beau could see the ground on the other side of what appeared to be solid brick. The bricks were plastic though and they were stacked without cement to bind them together. Wilhelm clicked his tongue and Beau picked up speed.

The rest of the ride was blur. The crowd’s cheers were muffled even as he completed the final stretch that ran beside the stands.    

“Prince Wilhelm goes all clear. With a final time of seventy-nine fifty-six, Prince Wilhelm finishes in second place. Let’s give our grounds crew a few minutes to set up the jump off. The seven finalists will be back out momentarily.”

Beau cantered around the top of the ring of his own volition as the announcer spoke. Wilhelm had landed the last jump heavy, his face down in Beau’s mane, and the reigns loose and drooping down below Beau’s neck. He let Beau run for few paces and wrapped his arms around his neck. “Shit. We did it.” He hadn’t expected to clear the first round. It’s so easy to knock down rails. Wilhelm pressed a kiss to Beau’s mane before pushing himself back upright pulling Beau back to a trot. Men in khaki pants and red polo shirts dispersed around the ring and began dismantling and reassembling jumps. He had to do it all over again, faster, on a course with higher jumps and tighter turns.

Wilhelm guided Beau back to the entrance gate. Mr. Claesson was waiting for them. “Excellent! Wilhelm, that was excellent. And Beau.” He patted Beau’s neck then pointed his cane to the huddle of riders at the check in desk. “They just posted the jump off course. Hurry and study. You’ll only have fifteen minutes.”

Wilhelm frowned as he stood behind the other riders and looked at the course map. It was shorter, only eight jumps, but the line wasn’t obvious. The jumps didn’t appear to follow neatly one after the other. The turns seemed impossible.

The boy who had ridden before him spotted Wilhelm. “Oh, sorry,” he said, stepping to the side.  

“I can see. Don’t worry about it,” Wilhelm smiled.

“You were really good.” the boy said. “I didn’t know you rode.”

Wilhelm’s fingers twitched. His index finger found the hang nail on his thumb. He didn’t know if comments like that, strangers knowing things about his life would ever be benign. He took a breath and pretended it was. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Off and on since I was young. I picked it back up recently. You were good too. You had the best time.”

The boy was Wilhelm’s height, maybe a little shorter. It was hard to tell under the helmet. His green eyes popped beneath the brim though and matched his hunter green jacket. He shrugged. “The first-round time doesn’t really count for anything. It’s the jump off that matters.”

“Right.” Wilhelm turned back to the map. “I don’t know how you’re supposed to do jump six. You have to like double back to it.”

“You can’t jump it straight. It’ll kill your time. You have to take it on an angle.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

Wilhelm nodded. It made sense. Wilhelm didn’t know how Beau would handle it though. “Thanks for the tip. I’m Wilhelm, by the way.”

“Yeah.” The boy nodded as he tried not to laugh. “Lars.”

Hands grabbed at Wilhelm’s waist and he jumped.

“Wille!” Simon said his name with a chuckle.

“Someone’s got a low spook point. You’re going to get kicked,” Lars said to Simon.

Simon’s eyes flicked back and forth between Wilhelm and Lars. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Felice said you were here. I didn’t know you were coming.”

Simon shrugged and rucked up the sleeves of his plaid shirt. “Sara wanted too. You were really good. You could actually win.”

“Lars had the best time,” Wilhelm said.

“Ah. Right,” Simon said, looking Lars up and down. “The competition.”  

There was a tension that turned Wilhelm’s head back to Simon. Simon had leaned back a bit, planting his heals firmly into the ground. He was jealous. Of Lars.

Wilhelm bit around a smile. It wouldn’t last long. In a minute, Simon would collect himself and realize that Wilhelm barely knew the guy’s name and he was supposed to be mad at Wilhelm for the statement and disgusted by his privilege. Wilhelm was going to enjoy it while it lasted though. “Lars was giving me tips.”

Simon squinted. “Can he be trusted?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Wilhelm said.

“Beau’s dye job is the real winner either way,” Lars said.

“Simon said he looked like My Little Pony.”

“Because he does,” Simon said.

Lars forced a half smile and shuffled his feet back and forth. He seemed suddenly aware of just how lost in the dynamic he was. “Well, I should probably go get ready. Good luck.”

“Yeah, you too,” Wilhelm said.

Lars walked away and Simon shot a wave at his turned back.

“He seemed nice,” Wilhelm said. Simon hummed, daring him to elaborate. Wilhelm decided not to take the bait. He threw his arm over Simon’s shoulder and steered him in the opposite direction “Come on, I’ve got to get back to My Little Pony.”

The jump off proved as difficult as it looked. The first rider went clear but the next two, knocked multiple rails. Klara was the second rider to go clear. She was slow though, posting a time greater than the first rider and within a second of the fifty-five second limit. Her turns were wide and her line was conservative. Maddison was faster. She cut the corners and approached the jumps on an angle. The final turn was too tight though and Kaiser lost momentum on the double combination. He knocked the top rail off the second standard. Lars cleared with the best time, 50.35 seconds.

Beau skipped the warmup trot and cantered out onto the course immediately. “Woah.” Wilhelm went to slow him but decided to catch up to his speed instead.

“We have three clear so far,” the announcer said as Lars rode off and Wilhelm took Beau through the last two turns. Five paces and six paces. “Lars and Truffle are sitting in first. Can Prince Wilhelm and Beau go sub fifty and claim that top spot?”

He didn’t need to go sub fifty. He just needed to focus, focus on Beau, focus on his line, and focus on the jump ahead.

Jump one. Wilhelm clicked his tongue and Beau stretched his neck and picked up his pace.

He cleared the first four jumps with ease but then pulled Beau back on the approach to five. He couldn’t overshoot the landing or he’d never be able to make the turn to six. Beau’s back hooves knocked the rail as they landed. The sound echoed around the ring. The spread on the oxer standards was wider than Wilhelm had anticipated. He sunk back into the saddle. Beau kept going though. There was no reason to play it safe anymore so Wilhelm cheated the jump six approach to what had to be forty five degree angle. He gripped tight with his knees and pushed his heels down in the stirrups half expecting Beau to stop in front of the jump, spooked and confused. He didn’t though. He jumped. He cleared it without hitting a rail or crashing into the standard and they landed with speed and a good line for the final turn. Beau had a good rhythm over the jump seven combination and with no more turns in his way, raced towards the final ascending oxer. It was wide and high and when he jumped, they soared.

There was a thunderous applause from the crowd. As Beau rounded the top of the ring, Wilhelm could see that the rail on five was still standing. Beau had clipped it but it hadn’t fallen.  

Beau continued to canter around the ring in what probably appeared to be a victory lap. Wilhelm looked back at the jumps as they passed, in denial and shock that he had completed course and done so with the fastest time. It was real though. He had actually done something that didn’t turn into a scandal. It was an accomplishment that wasn’t ceremonial or honorary. The plastic first place trophy was truly his. And Beau’s. Equestrian was a team sport after all. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Beau’s neck. Beau turned his head and looked back at him pointedly. If Wilhelm hadn’t given up riding when Erik did, they could have been doing this for years. They could have been doing this instead of getting into fist fights at clubs or doing drugs and playing poker in an abandoned shed. But maybe then he never would have ended up at Hillerska and never would have met Simon. Wilhelm reached forward and scratched Beau’s rainbow forelock before sitting back up. He waved to spectators in the stands and tilted the brim of his helmet as he passed and then turned Beau towards the exit.

There was an equally enthusiastic crowd waiting for them at the gate. Beau went straight to Simon. He wasn’t very subtle. Maybe being subtle was overrated. Simon took a half step back but cradled Beau’s head in his arms. He looked up at Wilhelm. “You’re way too happy considering he did all the work. Didn’t you, Beau? Yeah, you did all the work.”

Beau whinnied in agreement

Wilhelm took off his helmet and hopped down. He managed to shake out the hair matted on his forehead before Felice crushed him in a hug and shoved her phone in his face. “Wille, that was so good! I want a picture with the champ.”

“Yeah, that final turn was insane,” Maddison said. “All the turns were insane.”

“They were,” Wilhelm agreed and then turned back to Simon. “I had to steer through the turns. And memorize the course. And have good balance and not fall off.”  

“Sit? You had to sit?” Simon turned away from Beau as he mocked Wilhelm and Beau nuzzled at the side of his cheek. Wilhelm couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was adorable. Simon was adorable. And Wilhelm wanted him so bad.  “While he had to run real fast.”

“Uh huh.”

“And jump real high.”

“Uh huh.”

“And put up with you and your-”

Simon stopped talking as Wilhelm crowded into his personal space. Wilhelm tugged Beau’s reigns away from Simon’s cheek, away from his man. Simon blinked up at him, confused at first but then in understanding and disbelief. He didn’t back away and Wilhelm wasn’t going to either. Wilhelm slipped his free hand under Simon’s unbuttoned plaid shirt and gripped his white t-shirt just above the waist band of his jeans. He pulled Simon even closer and kissed him.

The crowd around them went quiet but Wilhelm could feel their presence and their eyes. He couldn’t erase them completely but he also wasn’t going to stop. This is what Simon needed. It’s what Wilhelm needed. He drank it in and it was awash in pink, pink with no pointy corners or sharp edges. The pink tingled but it was also soft and smooth. It soothed the sparks it ignited. It soothed the eyes of their friends and the eyes of the strangers in the periphery. It soothed his mother’s words. It soothed his own words.

When Simon pulled back, Wilhelm followed an inch before letting him go. Simon shoved his hands in front pockets of his jeans. He rocked back and forth. His eyes, bright and gold in the sun, were pulled away, somewhere over Wilhelm’s left shoulder.

“I think they need you,” Simon said.

Wilhelm turned around. A woman with a clipboard was walking briskly towards him. She skipped into a jog and back every few paces. Behind her, by the gate to the ring, the second and third place finishers, Lars and another local rider, were waiting.

“Mr.… uh sorry. Prince Wilhelm. We have a little awards ceremony for the podium finishers.”

“Right. I’ll be right there.”

Wilhelm put his helmet back on climbed back on Beau. He looked back as Beau walked towards the ring. Simon was smiling at him – even as he rolled his eyes.

Wilhelm’s phone chimed. He lifted his chin from Simon’s shoulder. They were sitting on his bed, Simon in his lap, watching a show on his laptop. The message was from Felice. Wilhelm slipped his arm out from where it was wrapped around Simon to open it.

 

Felice:
I’m going to delete it but it’s kind of perfect so I thought you should have it.

The picture below the message was of him and Simon kissing earlier at the competition. It was kind of perfect. They were both smiling around each other. Beau was standing way too close behind them but his rainbow dyed mane framed the top of the picture.

Wilhelm held his phone out for Simon to see. Simon half turned around to look at him. Wilhelm’s hand resettled on his hip as Simon leaned in to kissed him. Quick and simple. “You going to frame it?”

“I’m going to post it. On my official account.”

“What?”

“If you’re okay with it. I know you don’t want to be a secret but the official account is… a lot.”

“They give you access to that?”

“They might not after this.”

Simon shook his head. “They definitely won’t.”

“I think it’s worth it.”

Simon grabbed at his hand to see the phone and the picture again. “Would you kill me if I said no?” he winced.

“No?” Wilhelm groaned. “But there’s no way to contain this to the school. It’ll be the gossip amongst all the stable mums tomorrow.”

Simon settled back against him. “It’s not fair.”

Wilhelm hooked his chin back over Simon’s shoulder. “I know.”

“The video is going to be drudged back up.”

“We ignore it. It’s what we should have done from the beginning. I can’t retract the statement but it’ll be impossible to deny now. The only remaining option is to burry it. Mum will put the palace goons on it. She’ll have no other choice.”

“You sure?”

Was he sure? Wilhelm was never sure of anything. He was never sure how to act, what to say, what to think. He didn’t know how to be a prince. He didn’t know how to be Erik. Trying to be both and had resulted in him losing himself. He felt sure about Simon though. He always had. He had finally found a solid footing and from there, the line to navigate the course ahead became clear.

“Yes.” Wilhelm answered.

“Yes?”

“Yes.”   

“Okay,” Simon said. “Post it.”

Wilhelm ducked his lips to Simon’s shoulder. He paused for a moment, breathing in Simon and the way he felt against him, warm and solid and perfectly snug. He breathed in the moment that felt like the last in a chapter – for better and for worse.

Wilhelm opened the picture in his official Crown Prince Wilhelm Instagram account and typed out a simple caption: Won the trophy, won the boy, and won back a piece of myself. His heart raced as he typed and his hand shook as his thumb hovered over the post button. He did it though. Wilhelm hit post and then held down the power button until the screen went black and shoved the phone under his pillow.

Simon was smiling at him and Wilhelm smiled back. He would deal with the fallout in the morning. Right now he was going to enjoy being with his boyfriend and the way he was turning around to straddle his lap.

Simon hovered above him for a minute and pushed the hair back from his forehead. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”