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“I need you to trade places with me for the Norway trip.” Mae’s voice cuts through the music Osha has blaring through her headphones.
Osha looks up to where her sister is lying upside down on her bed — shoes still on, which Mae knows she hates. With a scowl, Osha sets her sketchbook down full of half-finished doodles and removes her headphones.
“No way,” says Osha. “You’re the Crown Princess. The trip’s in your honour.”
“But it’ll be so boring, ” whines Mae. “It’s not fair that just because you were born ten minutes after me you get to avoid all of the stupid Royal Obligations.” She mimes imaginary air quotes around the last two words. “You’re much better at the serious shit than I am.”
Osha rolls her eyes. “We both have a duty to Brendok. There’s no point in complaining about it — it won’t change anything.”
“But I can change who goes on the Norway trip.” Mae sits up to look Osha in the eye. “Please, Oshie, it’s only two days. You’ll be back before you know it.”
“If it’s only two days, then you can go. Why do you care so much?” Osha knows her sister. As much as Mae complains about official duties, she’s not usually so avoidant.
Mae’s nails have suddenly become fascinating. She stares at them, clearly avoiding Osha’s piercing look. “ Ihaveadate,” Mae mumbles under her breath.
“What?” Osha can’t believe her ears.
“I have a date!” Mae blurts out before running the side of her neck sheepishly. “Alright?”
“A date,” Osha echoes, dumbfounded.
“Yes, that’s what I said,” replies Mae. “And before you even try — no, I’m not going to tell you who with.”
“Fine, keep your secrets. But I still don’t see why you can’t just reschedule.” Osha twists a loc around her finger and stares out of her bedroom window. The lush gardens of the Brendok Royal Palace stretch before her.
“I’ve already rescheduled twice because Mother keeps insisting on those stupid etiquette lessons. Besides you owe me — I didn’t tell anyone when you snuck out with Yord last month to go get drunk in a Karaoke bar.” Mae sniggers.
Osha glances around for something to chuck, finding a mostly-empty water bottle that she lobs straight for Mae’s smirking face. Mae bats it away easily.
“Yord’s just a friend. And how do you even know about that?” asks Osha.
“You are not nearly as sneaky as you believe yourself to be,” says Mae. “It’s a good thing Sol’s a pushover or you’d be in serious trouble.”
Osha pauses at the mention of her bodyguard. “Sol would notice if we switched,” she says. “And he’d rat us out to our mother that I was helping you to bunk off official duties.”
“Please,” laughs Mae. “Sol’s been guarding you since we were eight and he still can’t tell us apart.”
“Then what about your bodyguard — what’s his name again?”
“Qimir,” Mae supplies. “And he’s only been guarding me for two weeks. It’ll be at least another month before he can tell us apart.”
“You go through bodyguards too fast.” A familiar lecture waits on the tip of Osha’s tongue.
“Save it.” Mae waves away Osha’s speech before she can give it. “So will you do it?”
Osha frowns. It’s a stupid plan that can only end badly. But it’s not like she has anything better to do this weekend.
“You’re not allowed to mess with any of my stuff while I’m gone,” she says.
“Sure,” says Mae with a triumphant smile.
“And you have to let me borrow the red dress.”
“Fine.”
“And,” says Osha, ”you have to feed and walk Pip until I get back.”
“Ugh.” Now it’s Mae’s turn to scowl. “Can’t I get one of the servants to look after your stupid dog.”
“No.” Osha crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “If you want me to do this for you, then you’ll look after Pip properly. No foisting him off on the poor groundskeeping team.”
“Okay, okay.” Mae raises her hands in mock defeat. “I’ll take care of the Pomeranian. But if he bites me then he’s getting donated.”
Osha rolls her eyes. She’s never understood the animosity Pip and Mae share for each other — but the feeling is definitely mutual.
“Then we have a deal,” Osha holds out her palm for Mae to mirror, the secret handshake they’ve shared since they were children. “But you’re packing my bag for me.”
—
The next day, Osha sits on Mae’s bed waiting for a knock on the door to signal that it’s time to leave. Osha’s borrowed bag filled with Mae’s belongings sits at her feet. She's also wearing Mae’s clothes — although since the two of them are identical in size and shape they don’t sit too awkwardly on Osha’s frame.
Osha feels awkward though — like anybody could see straight through the pretence to unravel this deception.
It’s just in her head, she reassures herself. After twenty-three years at each other's side, she and her sister know each other as if they were the same person. Only their mother can unfailingly tell the two of them apart — an uncanny ability that feels more like witchcraft at times. Two days pretending to be her sister will be a walk in the park.
The anticipated knock on the door jolts Osha from her nerves.
“Ready Princess?” The muffled voice of her sister’s bodyguard calls from the other side.
“Ready!” Her reply comes a little too quickly — she’s supposed to be bored of this trip, not anxious about it — Osha grabs her bag and opens the door.
On the other side of the door waits Qimir. The man who has sworn his life to protecting her sister is dressed simply in a slightly oversized black suit — the same outfit that she’s always seen him in.
Osha hasn’t spent much time with the man since he was hired — preferring Sol to accompany her and her sister on joint outings. The clothing gives him an altogether unassuming appearance, but even it can only do so much to disguise how unfairly attractive the man is.
Qimir glances up and down over her, his perfectly dishevelled hair falling over his forehead, an unreadable expression on his face. For a moment Osha thinks that the game might be up already, but he says nothing. Merely takes her bag from her and hoists it over his shoulder.
“The car’s waiting downstairs,” he says.
Hoping he doesn’t notice the tension she’s holding in her body, Osha nods and steps past him towards the stairway.
It’s going to be a long two days.
—
They ride in silence to the airfield. Osha keeps her eyes cast downwards and hopes that her nerves will be mistaken for Mae’s trademark disinterest. Whenever she risks a glance up at the rear-view mirror, she finds that Qimir is watching her. Which seems kind-of dangerous considering he’s the one driving, but they make it to the airfield in one piece so maybe it’s just a coincidence.
The Royal Jet is waiting for them on the tarmac, the familiar purple swirls on the Aniseya family crest emblazoned on its nose and wings.
Qimir parks the car by the awaiting steps. He steps out of the driver's side before opening the door for Osha and holding out a hand for her to take. She takes it for support as she exits the car. Their hands touch for only a moment, but she swears she feels something like the crackle of electricity down her spine when her hand touches his.
She pulls away as soon as she can, disguising the gesture by brushing imaginary lint off her skirt. Qimir says nothing, but she’s almost certain she catches the flash of a smile out of the corner of her eye.
“After you, Princess,” he says, gesturing to the steps.
Again with the title. It’s supposed to be a sign of respect, but something about his tone makes it sound more like a nickname. Osha can’t imagine Mae letting any bodyguard call her that, but Osha can’t decide if making a fuss over it would draw more attention to her or not.
Deciding that the best course of action is to ignore it — and him — for now, Osha climbs the stairs and settles down for a long plane journey.
—
The plane ride is thankfully uneventful. Osha stares out of the window, watching as the Sahara desert stretches beneath them. Her fingers itch for her sketchpad. But drawing is Osha’s thing, and Mae has made no secret of her disdain for that particular hobby of Osha’s, so for the sake of the ruse her sketchpad had to stay behind in Brendok.
She lets out a sigh — her fourth in as many minutes. Sat across from her, Qimir looks up from his book.
“Is the journey boring you, Princess?” he says, notching the corner of the page before placing the book down on the side table.
Osha shakes her head. “I didn’t choose to come on this trip.” It’s true — although perhaps not in the way he’ll interpret it.
“Sometimes we do things not because we choose to, but because we must,” he says, his tone measured.
“And that includes…” She trails off, realising that Mae forgot to mention the details of what she’d actually be doing on this trip.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the itinerary already, Princess? We went over it three times last week.”
“Remind me again,” Osha asks, hoping he doesn’t notice the probing nature to her request.
Now it’s Qimir’s turn to sigh. “This evening you are attending a performance of Brendok National Dance at the Osla Opera House. Tomorrow you’ll meet with the Prime Minister at the Storting building followed by a banquet dinner. The final day we visit the Hammeren Hydroelectric power station where you’ll meet with Brendok engineers who’ve been assisting in the construction project.”
“Oh!” Osha can’t hide her excitement, oddly placed though it may be, at the prospect of the last visit.
While Mae had brushed off the need for higher education — citing I have a guaranteed job for life, why would I need to waste time in school — Osha had attended University two years earlier than most, completing her undergraduate degree and later masters in Engineering. Her dissertation project had discussed how hydropower could be used to help with flood management, for which the calculations had been used towards the designing of some of the plants in Norway..
Qimir raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect you to be so interested in hydropower — I thought that was more your sister’s area of expertise.”
Osha quickly deflates, realising her slip-up. “I just…” She flounders, mind scrambling to come up with an excuse. “Want to find out more about the thing she’s always yapping about,” she finishes weakly.
“Is that so?” Qimir asks.
Osha nods her head, a little too vigorously. Desperate to change the subject, she asks, “How long do we have left on the flight.”
“A little over four hours,” he says before he stands up. “I’m going to go check with the pilot.”
“Okay.” She’s grateful for the diversion, as she sinks back into her seat, gaze turning resolutely back to the skyline.
Just two more days. She can do this. Surely.
—
By the time the plane lands and they make it to the hotel where they are to stay, Osha is desperate for a shower and then bed. Unfortunately for her, it's only four in the afternoon Norway time, and she still has her first Royal appointment of the trip to contend with that evening.
So there's no time for a nap, but she can at least take a shower — which she does gratefully.
When she emerges from the bathroom — the smell of plane air scrubbed from her skin and makeup freshly done — someone has already been in to unpack her bag and lay out her dress for the evening at the Opera House.
The dress is a favourite of Oshas's — made of a deep crimson lace complete with intricate beadwork. It's the first time Mae has let Osha borrow it — and that's not for trying on Osha’s part.
Being extra careful not to get caught in any of the beads, Osha steps into the dress. She shimmies the delicate fabric over her hips and slides her arms into the thin straps. Then she risks a glance at the room’s full length mirror.
The dress hugs her curves in a way she normally shies away from. There's no other word to describe it — she looks hot.
All that’s left to do is to zip it up. Which unfortunately turns out to be a task much easier said than done.
She reaches behind herself to grab the zipper head, but it remains stubbornly out of reach. Letting out a huff, she tries again. Mae always made this look easy, it can’t be that hard.
“ Shit .” The curse escapes her. It’s no use, no matter how she contorts herself, she just can’t grab the zipper.
“Everything okay in there, Princess?” It’s Qimir on the other side of the door. He must have heard her struggle.
“Yes—no— shit .” She’s still trying to twist her way to the zip, futile though her attempt may be.
“Are you in need of assistance?”
The word no is on the tip of her tongue, only stopped by the surefire knowledge that Mae will murder her if she pops any seams in the dress.
The only thing Osha can do is concede defeat. “Yes,” she admits.
The door creaks as Qimir pushes it open. Refusing to look him in the eye while in her current state, she stares straight ahead with her back to him.
His footsteps are almost silent as he approaches her. He moves like a predator. For the first time the thought of what his life was like before he was her sister's bodyguard crosses her mind.
He pauses a few feet away from her — she doesn't need to see him to know exactly where he is, some innate sense attuned to his every move.
A moment passes with no words, barely even a breath between them. It may be her imagination, but she can feel his eyes on her.
Another moment passes before she realises that he's waiting for her to speak.
“Oh, um”—her voice comes out as more of a squeak—“zip me up, please?”
“As you wish.” The hint of a smile in his voice.
Her breath fails her as he steps closer. A moment of anticipation that seems to stretch for an hour, but could only be a second or two.
His hands are warm on her back, calloused fingertips featherlight against her skin. With an uncharacteristic gentleness he glides the zipper up.
She expects him to step away, but he doesn’t. Instead he lingers there, one hand at the nape of her neck and the other at her waist. She too is frozen, heart pounding in her chest, so loud there’s no way he doesn’t hear it. He’s so close she can feel the puff of his breath on the back of her neck.
Caught in limbo — a push-pull that balances on a knife edge — and she doesn’t know where she wants to fall. Luckily for her, he takes pity on her and makes the decision for the both of them.
He pulls his hands away and takes a step back. “The car will be ready in ten,” he says, a hint of strain in his voice.
And then before she can offer a response, he is gone. The door closes with a thud between them.
—
Silent car rides are quickly becoming a theme of this trip.
Osha sits awkwardly in the back seat of the car, studiously avoiding looking up so that there is no chance of meeting Qimir’s eye in the rear-view mirror.
For his part, Qimir does not bring up their unorthodox encounter in her hotel room. He is once more the professional, with no suggestion in his mannerisms that he had his hands on her bare skin only a few minutes prior.
It’s a good thing too, because once they arrive at the Opera House there is no space for Osha to be distracted. The bombardment of flashing cameras and barrage of questions from journalists is all too familiar to Osha — even if they are yelling her sister’s name instead of her own. It’s all Osha can do to smile and wave as Qimir parts the clambering crowd. His eyes constantly scanning for threats as he ushers her quickly and efficiently into the building.
Inside the building there is small talk to grin through and so many hands to shake. By the time Qimir taps her on the shoulder to tell her it’s time to take her seat, she can’t wait to get back to the hotel room and sleep . But first she has two hours of dance to get through.
Her box for the evening’s production is set off to one side. She takes her seat as Qimir assumes watch by the door. The lights dim, and then it’s just the two of them — alone, but for the other few hundred people in the auditorium.
As tired as she is from her long day of travel, she can’t help but admit that the dancing is a sight to watch. She settles in to watch the show, but half-way through the first act she has a new problem.
It’s cold in the auditorium — not from an objective view, but her body is used to the ever-present heat of Brendok. And as beautiful as her dress is, it does nothing to help keep away the chilled air.
She shivers in her seat — it’s only slight, but it’s enough for Qimir to notice. The weight of his suit jacket settles over her shoulders only seconds after her first tremor. She looks up, brow furrowed. This is so against protocol — if anyone saw it would be beyond a scandal, not to mention the verbal lashing she’d received from her mother. But the look on his face offers no room for argument.
He leans forward, so close that his lips almost brush her ear. “No one can see,” he whispers. “Let me help.”
“You are going to get me in so much trouble,” she hisses back.
He chuckles. “Oh Princess, you have no idea.”
In the grand scheme of things, it’s no worse than her swapping places with her sister. If she’s screwed anyway, she might as well not be freezing in the meantime. She pulls his suit jacket a little further over her shoulders and settles back into her seat.
For the rest of the act she tries her best to enjoy the dancing while trying very, very hard not to think about the fact that Qimir’s jacket smells like him.
At least she’s not cold anymore.
Applause marks the end of the first act. Osha is just about to shrug the jacket from her shoulders and hand it back to Qimir, when a deafening bang cuts above the noise from the audience.
Before she can even comprehend what just happened, Qimir slams Osha to the ground, his body bracketing hers from above before. A gunshot — that sound was a gunshot .
“What—?” She squirms in his grip, the adrenaline flooding her body kicking her into a flight response.
A second shot fires, deafening even over the panicked screams of the audience.
“Stay down!” he barks as his eyes scan over her rapidly. “Are you hurt?” he asks in a shout.
She doesn’t answer him — doesn’t even hear the question above the thudding of her heart and the screams of the panicked crowd.
His grip on her arm tightens until she is forced to look him in the eye. “ Osha ,” he says, voice now dangerously calm, “are you hurt?”
“No,” she chokes out through the adrenaline.
“I need to get you out of here,” he talks slowly, each word chosen carefully. “We’re going to go through that door and down the emergency stairwell. I need you to stay low and do exactly as I say.” He holds her gaze. “Do you understand?”
She nods, body trembling.
Her compliance assured, Qimir lifts his head just over the box railing to scan the auditorium. Whatever he sees, it’s sufficient for him to raise up to a squat, his hand outstretched for Osha to take.
“Follow me,” he orders.
Keeping low as instructed, she follows him to the door. From down the corridor she can hear the cries of the fleeing public. Instead of heading towards the crowd Qimir steers her to the fire exit, which is so far still empty — although it isn’t likely to stay that way for long. With one hand on her arm he half guides, half drags her down the stairs. It’s all she can do to stay upright as they barrel their way through the fire escape doors and out onto the street.
There’s an unmarked car waiting for them. Osha doesn’t recognise it, but she doesn’t get the chance to ask questions before Qimir has flung the back door open and pushed her inside.
“Keep low!” he yells as he takes the driver seat and puts the car into gear.
She does as she’s told, keeping her head down as they begin to speed through the streets of Oslo.
“What happened?” Her voice is hoarse from shock.
He glances at her through the rear-view mirror as he kicks the car into a higher gear, paying no attention to speed limits.
“An incident,” he says, jaw tight.
“Is anyone hurt back there?”
“I don’t know. It’s my duty to get you away from danger.”
She’s crouched in the footwell of the back seat, her legs contorted awkwardly and she will definitely have the mother of all cramps by the time they reach wherever it is they’re going. But she is far too wound up to complain about something as trivial as a little discomfort.
They drive for a few minutes before Qimir next speaks.
“Give me your phone.”
“What?”
“Your phone, Osha.” It’s an order, not a request.
Something in his tone has her obey without further question. She reaches into her clutch, which she somehow had the wherewithal to grab when they fled the opera, and pulls out her phone. Then she places it into Qimir’s waiting hand.
“What do you need my—” Her question is cutoff when, without breaking a sweat, he crushes it in his hand like it was little more than a piece of paper.
Her phone well and truly destroyed, he rolls down the car window just enough to toss it.
She gapes. “What did you do that for?”
“I can’t risk you being tracked,” he says, eyes on the road as he speeds them out of the city.
Her mind is reeling with too many questions for her to vocalise. “What—but—how am I going to contact my family? I need to tell my mother—I need to tell Ma—my sister that I'm okay.” The wrong name almost falls from her lips in her panic. But then a realisation catches her entirely off-guard. “Wait—you called me Osha.”
“Yes.” He glances back at her, one eyebrow raised. “You really thought I didn't know?”
“Shit.” She buries her head in her hands. “I'm in so much trouble.”
“Yes,” he replies matter-of-factly. “But right now you have bigger problems to worry about.”
A wet laugh catches in her throat despite herself. “That doesn’t exactly make me feel any better.”
Not wanting to descend into a full-blown panic attack, she tries her best to calm her still-racing heart by taking measured, deep breaths — just as her mother once taught her. Only once her heart is under some semblance of control does she speak again.
“Where are we going?”
He pauses before giving a response. “Somewhere safe.”
There’s a protocol to follow for every kind of dangerous situation involving the Royal family. She naively never paid the plans much mind, so she’s unsure of the specifics. What strikes her as odd, is that it’s just the two of them. There’s no one else in the car, and no vehicle tailing them with backup security. That doesn’t track with how her security team normally operates.
There must be a reason. Qimir clearly knows what he’s doing and right now all she can do is trust him.
—
It’s well past midnight when Qimir finally pulls the car to a stop. Osha is utterly exhausted, has to fight to keep her eyes open now that the adrenaline of earlier has mostly worked its way through her system.
She stumbles out of the car when he opens the door for her, every muscle in her body screaming at her after so long being crammed awkwardly in the back of the car. He puts a hand on her arm to steady her, the warmth of his touch blocked by the fabric of his suit jacket that she’d forgotten she was still wearing.
It seems like a lifetime ago when her greatest worry was accidentally making a scene of her being a bit cold.
After a moment to let her body adjust, she straightens and looks around at her surroundings. It’s pitch black — the kind of dark only possible far from any civilisation, where the light pollution is so low that every star in the milky way is proudly visible. She can’t see the ocean, but the roar of crashing waves upon rocks means they must be nearby.
Qimir takes her hand. “Follow me,” he says.
She does. He leads her to a small cabin set upon a cliffside. From his pocket, he produces a key which he uses to open the door for her, letting her enter first before he follows. Inside the cabin is clean if sparsely furnished.
They’re alone — she has no way to contact her family — and she has no idea where exactly she is. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up just as she hears the click of the door locking behind her.
How well does she truly know this man? Could it be that she doesn’t really know anything about him at all?
She turns to face the man who is supposed to be her sworn protector and finds him watching her with those dark eyes. Confined in the small space they share, he appears to loom over her. Without his suit jacket it’s clear for the first time just how muscled he is — the ill-fitting cut chosen deliberately to disguise his build. He could probably break her like a twig if he wanted to.
He takes a step towards her. She takes a step back.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says.
His words do nothing to reassure her.
“This isn’t one of my family’s safehouses.” She fights to keep her voice steady, not willing to let him see how scared she is.
“No,” he says. “It’s mine.”
“Why have you brought me here?”
He takes another step forward and this time she holds her ground. “It was originally supposed to be your sister, but if I’m being honest I’m not displeased at this unexpected turn of events.” His lips quirk upwards into a smile that is far too fond for her liking. “You never fail to surprise me.”
She curls her hands into fists at her sides. “Whatever you have planned, it won’t work.” She has faith in her sister and her mother, if not in herself.
“You don’t need to worry about my plans.”
The nonchalance with which he says it fills her with rage. With a yell and without thought, she hurls her fist at his stupidly attractive, smiling face.
He catches her wrist with such speed that she barely even sees him move and with such ease that not a single hair falls out of place. He holds her wrist gently, careful not to twist or bruise her. And she hates it — at least if he were cruel to her she would understand where they both stood. But instead his kindness only succeeds in sending her more off-balance.
“You and I have more in common than you realise, Osha.”
“I’m nothing like you,” she spits but it lacks venom.
With great tenderness, he leans forward and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. It feels like a promise — but a promise for what she has no idea.
“Get some sleep,” he says. “In the morning, you and I are going to talk.”