Unchosen Crown

GOOD THINGS FALL APART

Oliver hurried through the castle corridors, taking longer routes than necessary.

With each new turn, he cast furtive glances over his shoulder, ensuring no unwanted observer caught him before he reached Ian's room.

Time was pressing. A handful of minutes remained until Oliver was due to sit at that ornate table for dinner with Princess Sofia and Queen Charlotte.

As he walked, the sounds of his footsteps resonated, deliberate and intense, against the polished wooden floor. He could feel droplets of sweat tracing a damp path down the center of his back, creating discomfort beneath his pristine white shirt and that particularly ill-fated blue jacket.

Then, all his efforts to evade detection abruptly crumbled when the imposing figure of a security guard emerged, a silhouette crossing his path in the north wing corridor. The pompous greeting of "Your Royal Highness" heightened Oliver's irritation. He took a deliberate breath before returning the nod, striving for a tone embodying decorum.

"Good evening. Do you need any assistance?" the guard asked, as formal as a bow.

"No, no," Oliver replied, adorning his response with an exaggerated gesture and a fake smile. "Everything is under control. But thank you for your attention."

Oliver made a subtle move to resume his course, but the guard interrupted his escape with an interjection that made his heart leap like a startled deer.

"Oh, here to see Ian?" Oliver hesitated, feeling the knot in his throat tighten a bit more. The guard's gaze was impassive, and for a moment, silence stretched between them. "He's in a meeting with Her Majesty, the Queen," the guard continued, with a calmness that made Oliver even more uneasy. "I received express orders to summon him recently."

Oliver's expression slightly furrowed at the information. A secret meeting called hastily by the monarch on the very day of the Swedish princess's visit? That was certainly no coincidence.

With dinner approaching, there was no time to lose. Oliver readjusted his jacket, which suddenly seemed heavier than it should, and walked to the grand halls where the event would take place.

He crossed the threshold of the dining room with slow steps, feeling the weight of each movement. His eyes wandered over the dark wood-paneled walls and ancient tapestries without really seeing them.

At the place of honor sat the Queen, her posture stoic and firm, as if her throne were an extension of her regiment. Beside her, Sofia, a vision of elegance, displayed a restrained smile, her beauty complemented by the warm glow the crystal chandelier above her cast on her skin.

Oliver forced a smile as he made a brief nod, a gesture of respect, before approaching for the formal greeting. His hands rose in a smooth, reverent motion, and his lips lightly brushed the backs of the Queen's and Princess Sofia's hands. How many times had he repeated these same formal gestures, he wondered.

Oliver looked up and found Sofia's blue eyes watching him with curiosity. He quickly looked away.

"Sit down, Oliver, my dear," said the Queen, her voice radiating satisfaction. Her eyes, as pure and radiant as the princess's, gleamed with expectation.

Taking his place at the table, Oliver felt the cold weight of the silver cutlery in his hands. They seemed strangely cold, despite the warmth of the candles and the crackling fireplace. Stirring the soup without wanting to taste it, his stomach knotted—a mix of tension and nausea as he tried to decipher what was to come.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Princess," Oliver said, with a cordial tone but a slight falseness. Sofia smiled in response, her gaze fixed on him with unexpected intensity.