Chapter Text
Wilhelm had been dying for three minutes now. At least, that’s what it felt like, when his throat constricted and his heart beat wildly and his head started to thump, dull and percussive.
He had just woken up from a dream. In it, he found out that he had gotten a girl pregnant- he didn’t know which girl, her face was indistinct and blurry, but his mother had told him to ‘stand by his actions’. The girl’s stomach started to bloat and engorge and Wilhelm panicked as the responsibility of fatherhood seemed to draw ever nearer- but instead of a child she achingly gave birth to a sticky crown, encrusted in blood and mucus, which fell to the ground with a shudder and twisted there, begging Wilhelm for help. As he reached for it, he heard a few indistinct yells from behind him. He turned back to see what was going on- nothing- and when he twisted back around everything was gone. All that waited for him was a white void.
It’s here that Wilhem woke up and subsequently had a panic attack that seemed to rage forever. He tried to calm himself down with deep breaths, attempting meditation to sooth the angry drill of his lungs trying to force their way up and out via his mouth. It wasn’t working. He tried to move to change but the heat was too intense. Wille felt like blue flame was ripping along his collarbone and burrowing its way deeper through each level of skin and muscle and bone. He tapped frantically and wriggled his foot to relieve the pain. Finally, Wille started counting.
Ett, Två, Tre, Fyra - maybe if he had just said no- Fem, Sex, Sju, Åtta - maybe if he weren’t a coward… Nio, Tio, Elva, Tolv - Maybe he could still be here…
Wilhelm’s breath slowed, but he started panicking as his thoughts strayed. Ever since the interview, he hasn’t been able to think about… him-that-it without his heart acting like a sponge to water. And he couldn’t afford to have that right now- after the nightmare and subsequent panic, Wilhelm was afraid that if his heart became any heavier, it might drop beyond the pit of his stomach and never be seen again.
He heaved himself up and out of bed, which wasn’t quite the obstacle it was in Hillerska where soft mattresses threatened to swallow their inhabitants (and actually did in one case- Amalia Aschburg disappeared for a day in 1997 until she was found- alive, but slightly parched- trapped underneath her duvet. Unfortunately for Hillerska, her parents were top international lawyers and, under risk of a high class child endangerment lawsuit, they were coerced into fully funding the rest of her studies.). No, in Kensington Palace the beds were much firmer, colder and larger than those in Wilhelm’s school. The winter chill didn’t help much either.
Wille walked over to his window and parsed the curtains open just enough to see two things:
1. The men holding cameras were still crouching outside of the gates.
2. It had started to snow.
The men with cameras were all wearing dark coloured coats and, although the intention behind it must have been to remain undetectable at night, with the snow falling all around they had started to look like black bugs twitching about on a tiled floor. Cockroaches, thought Wilhelm- they just don’t go away.
Indeed, there had been an encampment of cameras and their black-clad owners for a solid 24 hours now- ever since Wilhelm arrived. Although Wille wasn’t sure that all the fuss was about him. His cousin Henry had told him that, although the British gossip rags loved their monarchs, the thirst for new photos had become especially urgent ever since he and the FSOTUS (First Son Of The United States, Alex Claremont-Diaz) had started a burgeoning friendship a few months prior- something Wilhelm seemed to have missed entirely. (Wille mostly tried to avoid gossip, especially that concerning family, no matter how distant. Besides- he had had other things on his mind.)
Wilhelm sighed and tugged the curtains tightly shut, starting to shiver slightly. With all the taxes going to Europe's monarchies, you would think that they might fit their resplendent, hundred-year-old palaces with some actual insulation. He shook his head and headed to the wardrobe across from the king-sized bed. All his clothes were hanging in there neatly, dry cleaned and sprayed with some lavender tinted freshener. Wille reached for some underwear- also washed, ironed and steamed by the invisible maids that seemed to flit about the palace without ever being noticed.
Royal servants had all but perfected the art of not being noticed: different from not being seen, which merely refers to a physical absenteeism, becoming unnoticed is an exercise in restraint, in subtlety; in toning back one’s energy so that others’ eyes may slip right off you. Wilhelm admired this with a touch of envy- ever since Erik had died, Wille hadn’t been afforded one moment out of the spotlight.
Wilhelm finished pulling up his starchy jeans and smoothing his orange sweater when the glint of the heavy gray watch dominating the jewelry box caught his eye. After a moment's hesitation, Wille reached for it and held it for a second; turned it over, rubbed the edges. He strapped it on his left hand and felt the crown of the watch bite into the flesh of his wrist before the face swooned and fell to the ground, as the strap swiveled to the effect of gravity. The weight was comforting, in a way. It was a reminder of what was lost, but also a reminder of the love that preceded it.
All dressed, Wille left his room to brunch with his cousin. The Mountbatten-Windsors seemed nice enough from what Wille remembered of their few brief meetings. Besides, Wille might not be enthused to spend Christmas with him but as far as royal cousins go, at least Henry never uploaded revenge porn of Wille to the internet.
Well, more like third cousin really- Henry’s mother Princess Catherine was the cousin of Wille’s mother, Queen Kristina- but specificity didn’t really matter when it came to royal relations. All the monarchs in Europe were related in some way or another.
Wille sighed. What did it matter anymore? He wasn’t in England to celebrate Christmas with family- he was here on probation. This was a punishment for everything that went on last term: Kristina seemed to disapprove of Wilhelm for just looking in Simon's direction, and that video was more than she (or the royal media group) could handle.
Some media advisor had changed all of Wilhelms social media passcodes, and was supposed to update his Instagram with various pre-posed photographs throughout the Christmas break.
He was tired of the artifice and exhausted from the emotion. Wilhelm had just woken up in the lap of luxury but felt as though he had barely slept at all.
He wished he were someone else. Someone who didn’t have to pretend all the time, someone who could actually breath after bad dreams, someone who could date whomever they wished. More than anything, Wilhelm wished that he could talk to Simon. A lonely two weeks and then back to school- but Wille was afraid he could never see Simon again. He said he didn’t want to talk to him, but Wilhelm felt like he couldn’t take another minute being apart. He didn’t even want to kiss or hug or touch at all, but just be in the same room as him and hear his voice.
Wilhelm tried to compose himself. It was no good moping: Even if Simon wanted to see him, he was in England and Simon was in Sweden. He would definitely not be able to see Simon in England. Why would Simon be in England?