A Nordic King

That said, the Danish royal family now consists of just me, Aksel and Stella.

Aksel and Stella’s mother, Queen Liva, died a couple of months ago. Luckily Aksel was able to get closure with her over the years, coming to terms with their relationship. Even though she rarely recognized him, on the days that she did remember, she was kind and remorseful. They never had the mother/son relationship that Aksel wanted, and she never gave him the love he needed, but at least in the end, he was able to salvage the distance that had grown between them.

He gave a stirring speech at her funeral, which was televised across the nation. Every time I see Aksel give a speech in front of his country, I see him transformed into a king. It’s not that he isn’t, it’s just as the years go on, he wears his crown with pride. He’s become someone that people need and more than that, he’s started believing they need him. That he’s worthy of it. He rises to the occasion, born to be a leader and a ruler.

Born to be mine.

I’m so, so lucky that he’s mine. I’m so, so lucky that six years ago he agreed to hire me. And I’m so lucky that I didn’t give up when the going got tough—not on myself, not on the girls, not on him. I didn’t give up on love, even when it was drowning me. Being a queen isn’t an easy role and I have some very pretty and beloved shoes to fill, but I can do it with my king, with my love, at my side.

I have no greater proof of his devotion to me than right now.

We’re currently in an SUV, driving across the dry outback of Queensland, heading closer to the border with South Australia.

Heading to Windorah.

Behind us is another car with Maja, who is still spritely at her age, and Johan at the wheel.

And behind them is Henrik, driving the royal attendants.

Rich, red dust rises up behind our mini convoy, spreading across the desolate brushland.

We’ve been driving forever at this point and my hometown seems to get further and further away.

Of course, we could have flown in a little plane.

And, of course, Aksel didn’t have to drive at all.

But after what happened with his mother, I felt the need to make peace with mine. And even though my mother can’t be located by any means, and I know she’s no longer in Windorah, I figured I need closure in other ways. Just to see the pub, just to see the shack. Just to see the life I used to have and say goodbye to it. No more demons, no more pain. I’m moving on and the guilt can stay behind.

So Aksel insisted on a family trip to Australia and then he insisted on reliving his ex-rally driving days and driving us there. Naturally I’ve been keeping him from going too fast since we have our little princes and princesses in the car and with there being no bends or turns in the road whatsoever, it probably doesn’t feel like racing at all.

But to Aksel, it’s freedom.

Window down, arm outside, the hot air blowing back his hair, Aksel feels free.

And I will soon too.

It’s another three hours until we finally hit the outskirts of town and thank god for that, because everyone has had to go pee and there hasn’t been a single rest station or even tree on the side of the road to do your business behind.

The town is even smaller than I remember. It’s just a road with a few houses scattered about. There’s the petrol station/dairy and a farm and feed store and…the pub.

It looks the same as it did, all peeling paint and clapboard sides, dust that’s been permanently etched onto the windows. Aksel asks if I want to go inside but I don’t. I just want to see it in passing, to know it’s still there, to know it has no hold on me anymore.

We keep driving, past a cattle ranch and then down an even worse dirt road and then suddenly we’re here. Both the cars behind us have stopped further up the road to give me some privacy.

“Is this it?” Clara asks, peering out the window as we come to a stop in a dusty driveway.

“Yes,” I say, breathless already, as I slowly step out of the car.

I barely feel the cramps in my legs from being in the car all day, my eyes are focused on the shack.

It looks a lot better now or maybe it was never that bad. About three rooms, single story, tin roof. There’s a porch with a sagging couch and a screen door that’s not shut properly.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Aksel asks, getting out of his side.

I shake my head. “Take the kids to pee behind that tree.”

I walk toward the shack, slowly, as if in a dream. In fact, I have to pinch myself a few times.

Is this real?

Am I really here?

Who am I?

But then the screen door is pushed forward, and a black and white cattle dog comes bounding out, tail wagging.

“Hey boy,” I say to him as he comes over to me, happy and excited. I have no idea who this dog is, but I do love dogs and they do love me. I still have a sweater that says so.

I crouch down to pet him, and he starts licking me up the side of the face just as someone else comes out of the screen door.

It’s a woman, younger than me, and a little bit pregnant.

“Hi,” she says warily. She’s pretty, white teeth, very tanned. She’s in dirty work boots and a brown floral dress. “Can I help you?”

The dog runs over to her and now the woman is distracted by my kids, who all come running forward, and Aksel in the background, pissing on a tree.

“No,” I tell her, smiling big, hoping she doesn’t think we’re here to rob her or pee on her trees. “Sorry to just show up like this but I used to live here.”

She’s taken aback and walks off the porch, wiping her hands on her dress.

“You used to live here?”

“I did. Long, long time ago. I haven’t been back here for, maybe, fifteen years.”

“I hear your accent now,” she says, nodding. “It’s getting stronger as you talk.”

“Anyway,” I say, shrugging. “I just wanted to look at it and see if it’s still here. It is. Sorry to bother you.”

The kids are now running around with the dog, and Aksel comes over, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“Hi,” he says to her with a nod.

“Hi,” she says, then sticks out her hand. “I’m Meredith.”

Aksel shakes it. “Aksel. This is Aurora.”

“Aurora,” Meredith muses. “I can’t say I remember your name being mentioned.” I almost say I was Rory back then, but I don’t. Rory is gone. “We actually moved in about four years ago. My husband, Jim, he started up an emu farm.”

“Emus!” Emil yells, abandoning the others and the dog and running over to us. “You have Emus.”

“Yes, he’s out there with them right now.” She gestures with her head to a small hill I used to climb when I was young. She peers at us. “You have very interesting accents. Where are the rest of you from?”

“Denmark!” Emil exclaims. “My name is Prince Emil and that’s my brother, Prince Lars and we’re twins.”

“Oh, really,” she says, smiling at them, completely amused.

“They’re going through a phase,” I lean in and say under my breath, not needing for her to know who we really are.

“Well I’m having a little prince myself,” Meredith says, putting her hands on her belly.

“You don’t have royal family in Australia,” Clara yells over at us.

“It’s a figure of speech, Clara,” I yell back.

“Yeah, but…”

“Listen,” Meredith says. “You’ve come such a long way to see this place. Would you like to come in for some supper? Maybe a spot of tea?”

“Oh no, no,” I tell her. “Please, we just wanted to see it, that’s all.”

“But I insist.”

“You’re cooking for three, not for nine,” I remind her, stunned by her generosity.

“Thank you for the offer but we couldn’t impose on you.”

“I could help cook,” Aksel offers.

I stare at him, trying to shoot what are you doing messages with my eyes. “You can’t even heat up soup!”

“I’m a good cook,” Freja speaks up. “Karla taught me how to make sous vide the other day.”