A Nordic King

I never do in general and I especially don’t the first night in a strange place, whether it be in a hotel or my new room at my new job. I’m always too aware of how unfamiliar my surroundings are. I’m always planning my escape route in case something goes wrong—I’m always distrustful of the shadows.

In this case, my room is huge and the shadows are deep and long and everywhere. Plus, in the back of my mind I think I hear someone walking up and down the hall. It might be Sleepwalking Johan and I start to wonder if I locked my door or not.

When the sky begins to lighten from black to purple-grey, I’m already awake and getting out of bed. Maja had told me that Clara’s school starts at eight-thirty and is about a twenty-minute drive, so we should be out of the house—erm, out of the palace—no later than eight.

I’m nervous as I usually am on my first day on the job. I don’t know the area (and in this case, the country), I don’t know the children or the adults. I have no idea what to expect and that’s not even factoring in the whole royal thing. Having a shitty sleep on top of it all doesn’t help my nerves either. The best I can do is just ignore the whole royal thing for now, and the fact that my new home is a castle, and I’m caring for two bloody princesses, and just pretend that this is nothing new.

Though a vat load of coffee wouldn’t hurt. I flick on the lights and look around the room. I wonder if they’d mind if I got a kettle for the room along with some tea and instant coffee. I can’t see myself trudging down to the cavernous kitchen at all hours of the day and night for my fix.

You’ll get some caffeine in you later, I tell myself. Just focus on the day. You know everything will work out the way it’s supposed to.

The first step is to figure out what to wear. I’m a bit of a tomboy-ish dresser and you can usually find me more on the side of casual than not, favoring shorts and singlets in the summer and skinny pants and fitted tees and jumpers in the winter. But this being a royal palace and all and the fact that my two charges seem awfully fond of pretty little dresses, I wonder if I need to step it up a notch. Even the nannies from the Norwood handbook stuck to a Mary Poppins-esque uniform at school (Complete with hat!) and a working uniform of navy blue skirts and blouses.

I dig through my luggage some more, putting half my stuff away, until I come across the only skirt I have, which is a black wool A-line skirt. In fact, I don’t think I’ve worn it since I came to Europe—it was part of my waitressing uniform back in Brisbane before I scrounged up enough money to escape.

I squeeze it on, feeling like I’m going to have an aneurysm doing so, and can’t even get it zipped all the way up the back. Well, if there was any doubt that I’ve gained weight since moving to Europe, here’s the proof. Not that I’ve been lazy (I like my walks, and running after kids is brilliant cardio) or eating crap (the food here is amazingly fresh and whole compared to back in Oz), but I was painfully thin back then. In fact, this skirt used to be huge on me to begin with.

I shudder at the memory and figure I should probably take it off lest it remind me of my past all day. Only I can’t. The zipper is stuck halfway.

“Oh for crying out loud,” I grumble, twisting and trying to fiddle with it.

Someone knocks at the door. “Aurora,” Maja calls out. “Just making sure you’re up.”

“I’m good, just getting dressed!” I yell back, frantically trying to get the zipper unstuck.

“Breakfast will be served in the dining room in five minutes,” she says, and then I hear her footsteps go down the hall and knock on another door. She must be waking up the girls.

I sigh and look at myself in the mirror with my rumpled “Dogs Love Me” sweatshirt I slept in and an ill-fitting mini-skirt. I need to make the best of this. I mean, the skirt is probably too short but maybe if I pair it with tights and knee-high boots and a blouse it will be okay.

But of course the only pair of tights I have are snagged. So I put on thick knee-high socks to go with my boots and a white V-neck t-shirt underneath a light grey cardigan—the “grandpa” kind which is long enough to cover the fact that my skirt is only zipped halfway up—and quickly pull my long hair back into a ponytail, heading out into the hallway. I probably should bother with a bit of makeup but I’d rather be bare-faced than late.

It takes longer than anticipated to finally find the dining room since there are so many freaking dining rooms in this palace and by the time I get there, Clara, Freja and Maja are all sitting at the table and eating what looks like muesli and yogurt. There are two extra empty placements and I’m assuming one of them is mine.

“Hello Nanny,” Clara says cheerfully.

“Honorary Goddess,” Freja says under her breath, giving Clara a contemptuous look.

Meanwhile Maja has one brow raised as she glances at my skirt. She doesn’t say anything though I can practically hear the tsk-tsk in her head. What’s Danish for hussy?

I clear my throat, fighting back the urge to cover my thighs. “Sorry I’m late. I got lost.”

Clara giggles. “I must play hide and seek with you later. There are so many hiding spots, you’ll never ever find me.”

“Clara,” Maja chides her quietly. “You know what happened last time.”

“What happened last time?” I ask, sitting down at my spot and eyeing the empty bowl. Maybe I’m supposed to go into the kitchen and fix up my own stuff?

“I hid so well, it took them days to find me,” Clara says proudly.

“It was a few hours,” Maja corrects her with a shake of her head. “And it was enough to make the old nanny cry when she couldn’t find you. You must promise you won’t do that to Miss Aurora here.”

All I can concentrate on is getting coffee into my veins and I’m about to ask where I can get some when Karla, the cook, enters.

“Good morning, miss,” she says to me. With her blunt-cut blonde bangs, squinty eyes and round cheeks, Karla looks like she’s perpetually cheerful. “What would you like for your breakfast? Waffles? Cereal? An omelet? Cold cuts and cheese?”

I don’t want to be a pain in the ass so I just say, “I’ll have what they’re having. Plus as much coffee as you can give me. Cream and sugar, please.”

“Of course,” she says, and then eyes the empty plate at the head of the table. “Is he not coming again?”

Maja shakes her head. “He’s very busy today.”

Karla nods and heads out of the room while I turn to Maja. “Does Aksel normally eat breakfast with you?”

“Papa used to,” Clara speaks up and seems to stab her muesli with her spoon. “Every morning it was him and me and Freja … and Mama.”

A heavy hush seems to come over the table. This is the first time I’ve seen the girls mention their mother and I have no idea how they’re going to handle it.

Though Clara seems to handle it by being violent with her breakfast and Freja shrinks in her seat like she wishes the room would swallow her whole.

“I’m sure he will soon,” I say, trying to be positive even though I honestly have no clue at this point how anything in this place works.

“You girls know he’s been so busy lately,” Maja explains but even that sounds a bit weak.

It makes me sad to imagine how this family was before Queen Helena died. It must feel like a ghost dines with them every day.

After I mainline a pot of coffee and pick at some muesli, Clara and I pile into the waiting car at the back, Henrik behind the wheel. Freja stays behind with Maja though Maja notes she’ll probably start coming along for the ride if she’s not available. Maja acts as the girls’ grandmother but in the end, she’s not their nanny.

“Good morning, Miss Aurora,” Henrik says cheerfully as he twists in his seat to nod at me and Clara. “Godmorgen, Deres Kongelige h?jhed.”

“You can speak English to me, Henrik,” Clara says as she shuffles along the back seat of the car. “I’m fluent, you know.”