Chapter Text
I hope you have a nice Christmas.
Yeah, right. A nice Christmas, in a cold palace, without his brother. A nice Christmas, stuck with a mother who struggled to look him in the eye and a silent father. A nice Christmas, of meaningless speeches and formal dinners with distant relatives and fake smiles. A nice Christmas, without Simon.
Yeah, right.
Wilhelm had never liked Christmas with his family. There was one year, when Wilhelm was much younger, that he and his brother spent their Christmas in England, with their royal cousins. Christmas had been good, then. It had been family dinners and Christmas trees and exchanging gifts. But whenever Wilhelm had Christmas in Sweden, with his parents, it was hell.
But it was worse this year. Without Erik, Wilhelm felt lost. The Drottningholm halls felt longer and darker than before, and the rooms felt emptier. Erik could always find a way to make everything a little brighter. He always found it so easy to smile at Wilhelm. It was almost jarring, as Wilhelm got older, to walk down the flights of stairs every morning and see Erik waiting for him with a smile and a hug, but it always felt right. Erik would wrap him up and ruffle his hair, ignoring the disapproving glare of their mother. God, Wille missed him.
Even now, he pretended Erik would be waiting for him, but he never was. Of course he never was. He was dead, after all, and Wilhelm would never see him again or be able to hug him or hear him. Wilhelm missed Erik's voice so much. His teasing tones. And his sarcastic ones. And his loving one and all of the other ones. It was just... so hard. To wake up every day and pretend that everything was fine because that’s what the entire country expected of him but be carrying the suffocating pain in his chest all day that had been there since Erik died.
Wilhelm groaned into his pillow. He knew that he had already slept too late and that his mother was bound to be angry with him when he eventually arrived downstairs for breakfast. Or they would just eat without him. He doubted they’d miss him that much.
His limbs felt heavier than usual. The night before had been bad, after his mother yelled at him for the state of his cuticles. Apparently, that’s a thing. He’d snuck into the kitchen long after his parents had gone to bed and drunk half a bottle of ridiculously expensive wine in the pantry. He regretted it now. His head felt like it was splitting.
He didn’t even drink that much but he hadn’t drunk anything since...well, since the incident on the football field. He hated that he had relapsed, if he could even call it that, but he couldn’t help himself. He had no one, anymore. He needed a way to feel better. It was there.
With a sigh, Wilhelm rolled himself out of bed, instantly feeling his stomach lurch. He picked his way through the clothes strewn across his floor until he got to the bathroom. He closed his eyes, so he didn’t have to see himself in the mirror and splashed water over his face, shivering slightly at the shocking cold.
By the time he had found his way downstairs, it was already 10am in the morning. Sure enough, there were dirty plates in the butler’s kitchen and a few half-opened cereal boxes. Wilhelm could barely even stomach the idea of food, so he began his guilty trip to his mother’s office.
“Mamma?” Wilhelm called quietly from outside the closed door.
A tense pause. “Come in, Wilhelm.”
Wilhelm opened the door. He hated it when she said his name like that. Like she regretted him. Like she wished the beautiful name belonged to someone more beautiful. Like she wished he was Erik. He wished he could trade with Erik, too, so at least they could agree on one thing.
The Queen is focused intently on the paperwork in front of her, lips pursed, and eyes narrowed. Wilhelm coughs awkwardly, leaning against the doorframe and picking at his sleeve. She finally looks up at him, with the usual sigh and nose-stare. She waits for him to speak first.
“Uh, I’m sorry for missing breakfast,” he mumbled, watching the clock behind her head closely.
“Speak a bit louder, Wilhelm.” Wilhelm. She spits it.
He tried again; “I’m sorry for missing breakfast, mamma. I didn’t mean to, I just forgot to set my alarm last night.” It was a lie, but his mother didn’t mind lies. She encouraged lies.
“ Ja ,” Kristina said. She got up from her chair and folded her arms, moving to stand in front of her desk. There were still three metres between them. Empty metres. “Have you remembered the dinner tonight?”
“Uh,” Wille began, but he didn’t get far. He never did.
“I expect you to be on time. Can you do that for me?” She smiled then, and it was a real smile. Or as real as they got. It made Wilhelm’s heart squeeze and his chest felt tight, because he knew she used to smile at him like that. Back when he was still a child. She hadn’t smiled at him like that in years. It made him want to fall into her arms and do anything she asked because he loved her, no matter how much she didn’t love him, because she was his mother and—
“Wilhelm?” Her voice cut through his thoughts. Wille , call me Wille, like you used to.
Wilhelm nodded. “ Förlåt, ja.”
She nodded curtly at him, before turning on her heel and sitting back at her desk. She didn’t acknowledge him again. He left.
…
Dinner went terribly but, really, Wilhelm should expect it by now. He wasn’t even sure who the guests were, just vague memories of faces at charity events. They might have even been distant relatives. He didn’t care to ask.
They were only half-way through entrées when the video was brought up. It was subtle, just a quick; “We were surprised to hear from you, after everything that’s happened recently”, with a pointed glance in Wilhelm’s direction. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Had they watched it? Oh god , how many people he knows have watched his fucking sex tape? How many people he must look in the eye?
And it only went downhill from there. Wilhelm thinks he lost his temper by dessert, between comments about Wilhelm’s new duties as Crown Prince (after darling Erik’s unfortunate passing) and snide remarks about Wilhelm’s ‘ too-pretty’ face and ‘ too-long’ hair. All the while, his parents sat there, laughing politely and making mundane conversation. Whenever Wilhelm replied to an insult a bit too hastily or sent a glare to their guests, his mother would tap his ankle with the heel of her shoe and clear her throat, looking at him pointedly. His father would just look down at the table. Like he was ashamed. He probably was.
When the guests leave and the palace workers clean up the dining hall, his mother corners him in the side room. She stands there, in the door, arms folded and fury on her face. Wilhelm feels his stomach twist.
“You need to get yourself together,” is what she says, looking down her nose.
Wilhelm nods numbly, falling back into a perfectly styled armchair. He wraps his right arm around his middle, conscious of the way his breathing was stuttering.
Kristina walks to the other side of the room, looking out the window onto the palace grounds. The sky was dim, by now, and rain fell heavily, lashing against the glass panes. “One day, Wilhelm, you will come to realise how much your father and I do for you. You will understand why you had to deny that... video , and why we cannot let August take the fall for a little mistake.”
“Then explain it to me, mamma!” Wilhelm exploded, standing up from the armchair so suddenly that it screeched against the floorboards. “I want to know why you think someone posting a sex tape of two minors shouldn’t be punished! What is it? What’s the reason? Because he’s family?”
“ Yes , because he is family, Wilhelm, how do you not—?”
Wilhelm cut her off with a bark of laughter. “ I’m your family!”
“You denied the video, Wilhelm.”
“You do realise that it was me, though, right? It was me, in that video. It doesn’t matter what I say to the press, there is a sex tape of me and the boy I—the boy I love out there, and you’re content to just sit there and let it happen?”
Kristina spun. “Foolish boy, you do not understand! You are the Crown Prince! You have responsibilities now, there is no room for mistakes. No more slip-ups.”
“ He wasn’t a mistake!” Wilhelm yelled, angry tears in his eyes.
His mother stepped in front of him and slapped him across the cheek. Wilhelm flinched hard, hand coming to his face in shock, his cheek stinging.
The room was horribly silent. Wille stared at the floor, feeling tears bubble and overflow. His heart sounded too loud in his ears, too quick. His face burned but his body was flushed with ice. The faint patter of rain on the windows broke the tension.
The Queen moved to touch Wilhelm’s arm and he flinched again.
“Wilhelm, I love you,” she told him, and he felt sick, “And I am sorry if that hurt, but I need you to grow up. Can you do that for me?”
I love you. Wilhelm’s knees felt weak. He wanted to collapse to the ground and stay there forever and melt into the floor. I love you, I love you, I love you. She’s sorry. She needs me to be better. She loves me.
“ Hey, look at me,” his mother demanded, but her voice was soft and oh-so-caring, and she didn’t even try to touch him. He lifted his head, neck stiff. He looked at her left eyebrow. He couldn’t look into her eyes. She never liked seeing him cry. “I just need this one thing from you, okay? And then we can go back to normal, and we can all be happy again.”
Do I make you unhappy, mamma? Wilhelm nodded, feeling his throat constrict like there was a hand wrapped around it. He stared at her eyebrow for a few more seconds before he nodded once more, turned on his heel and ran.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe and he was dying.
We’ve done nothing wrong.
No, we haven’t.
And then his own mother: he’s a mistake. You don’t love him, he’s a boy. You don’t understand. You’re just confused. You don’t understand. Mistake, mistake, mistake.
God, why can’t he breathe?
The walls blur as he walks through the hallways, beelining for his bedroom. He needed to hide, to get away, to lock himself in and not anyone see him, not like this. He hears his name being called. Malin. But he is already there, and he lunges through the door and he locks it behind himself even though he knows Malin has a key and he collapses against it and he slides to the floor and he tries to fucking breathe.
And sitting there, curled up on the floor, he wonders if Linda thinks Wilhelm was a mistake. He knows she’d never think that Simon being in a relationship with a boy was a mistake, like Wilhelm’s mother does, but she probably wishes Simon had better taste. Probably wishes it was any other boy than Wilhelm. Because Wilhelm was a mistake.
He was gasping now, pulling at his hair, only vaguely aware that he had started rocking. He thinks he hears whines, and he knows they’re his and it makes his chest tighter because he’s so stupid and weak and he needs to grow up .
And then there’s Simon. Was he mad at him? Of course he’s mad at you. Did he love him? You betrayed him. Wilhelm misses him so much. He misses the feeling of his arms around him, the beautiful, golden skin pressed against his. The feeling of his soft lips, always so gentle with him. His voice. How it was so smooth, like everything about him, smooth and warm and beautiful; so, so beautiful.
And not just that, but the way Simon made him feel. Safe, heard, accepted. Like nothing else in the world mattered more than them, then, as they were. Wilhelm didn’t have to be Crown Prince Wilhelm or Gay Wilhelm or any other Wilhelm the press had labelled him as recently. He could just be Wille. Simon’s Wille. No one else’s.
Wilhelm thought that had been love, but maybe he was naïve.
The knocking on his door got louder, more insistent. He screwed his eyes up against the noise, pressing his lips together and gripping his hair tighter. He tried to draw in another breath, but it rattled in his chest and fell from his mouth in a loud sob.
“Your Royal Highness? Prince Wilhelm?” Malin’s voice cut through the din. “I need you to answer me or I will have to come in, sir.”
Wilhelm tried to force the words from his mouth, I’m okay, go away , but his throat was closed. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. His own wheezes reached his ears.
There was a mutter, and the door was being opened. Wilhelm quickly scrambled away from it, pressing himself into the corner of his room, refusing to open his eyes. He didn’t want to look Malin in the eye and see her face. Would she look at him like she thought he was crazy? Or worse, like she was sorry for him?
He heard footsteps approaching him tentatively. He shook his head frantically, whimpering. Malin’s voice was soothing and constant and it made Wilhelm want to give in, but he knew he shouldn’t. He can’t show weakness anymore, he had too many eyes on him.
When he felt a hesitant hand on his knee, he flinched, but didn’t move away. He felt the warmth spread through his trousers and it made tears spring to his eyes. Another breath. Another sob. There were demands of Breathe, Wilhelm, breathe , and he tried to listen, he really did, because the words were good and the voice was nice, but he couldn’t. The hand moved to his own, bringing it to Malin’s collarbone. She breathed in and out exaggeratedly, showing him how. He could feel the movement under his hands, desperately trying to replicate it. His lungs convulsed. He tried again. His breath hitched. He tried again. A small breath. A sob.
It took hours, or maybe minutes, for Wilhelm’s breathing to regulate. He slumped brokenly against the wall, his energy drained and limbs too weak to move. Now that he was getting enough oxygen, his head felt light and floaty. His ears rang and his heart beat loudly in his ears, blood rushing. Maybe it was relief. He couldn’t tell. His fingers and toes were numb.
“Prince Wilhelm, can you stand up for me, please?” Malin asked quietly, tapping his knee twice. Can you do that for me, Wilhelm? Can you grow up? Can you be better? He buried his face between his knees again, dizzy. “Please, only so you can sit somewhere more comfortable.”
But she didn’t really wait for an answer, and Wilhelm felt hands wrap around his wrists, not too tight, but firm, and there. He was pulled gently to his feet, but his knees were too weak to hold his own weight. Malin wrapped an arm around his waist and placed his left arm around her shoulders, half carrying him to his bed. The world was spinning. Everything had blurred edges and the air swirled, distorting.
She carefully sat him on his bed, steadying him by the shoulders until he ensured her that he could keep his balance on his own. (He didn’t really know that, but his neck was burning with embarrassment). Wille rubbed his arm awkwardly, trying to work feeling back into his fingertips. Tears pricked his eyes but he refused to let them fall. Malin had disappeared into his ensuite. Scuffing his shoes against the floorboards, Wilhelm sighed, beyond feeling anxious or depressed. He was exhausted. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed and let sleep take him, maybe forever, but he never slept well in this bed. He slept better at Hillerska. At least, he did before the sex tape. He slept better in Bjärstad.
Malin came back with a glass of water in her hand. She handed it to Wilhelm, who accepted it with a polite nod of his head. His hands still shook slightly, but he lifted it to his lips and took a small sip. The water soothed his throat and cleared his vision with every sip he took.
“Would you like to talk about it, Your Royal Highness?” Malin asked, standing two metres from him with her hands folded in front of him, ever the professional.
Wilhelm shook his head, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. He looked at his toes.
Malin inclined her head; “If I may, Prince Wilhelm, I believe that it is important to talk to someone. A professional, perhaps, or someone you trust.”
“ Tack , Malin,” Wilhelm whispered, and he meant it. “But please don’t tell my mamma.” And he meant that, too.
She smiled. “I won’t, if you do not want me to. I am here to protect you, sir,” Malin continued, “and I intend to follow it through, no matter who I am protecting you from.”
Wilhelm’s heart squeezed, both with gratefulness and sadness. He knew that Malin and Erik had been close, before he died. Malin had been Erik’s bodyguard, but they were only a few years apart and had become friends first, prince and bodyguard second. When he died, Malin had chosen to guard for Wilhelm. Perhaps because he reminded her of Erik. However, he didn’t like what she was implying, but he also knew it was true. He needed protection inside the palace as much as he needed it outside the palace.
Malin stood there for a moment more, before silently walking back out the door. Wilhelm let out a rush of air, falling back against his mattress. The ceiling above his bed was carved with intricate patterns, painted in dull greys, blues and purples. The same colours featured across every inch of his walls in ancient, peeling wallpaper. There was a dresser between two, arched windows, where Wilhelm had placed the Frog Prince snowglobe. He had two bedside tables, both bare and empty. A mirror, on the wall opposite the windows. Large and daedalian.
There was nothing of Wilhelm in his bedroom, here. At least at Hillerska, the room was smaller and he could decorate it with anything he wanted. He missed his LED lights and the Måneskin poster he had plastered to his wall. The only thing he had taken home with him was the snowglobe, because Erik had given it to him and he needed it.
But in a few days, it would be Christmas, and a few days after that, New Years, and finally, finally , the holidays would end and he could go back to Hillerska (and back to Simon, but he tries not to think about that).
At least, that was the idea. He was nervous about going back to Hillerska, stomach twisting itself into knots the whole car trip there. What was he meant to do, when he saw Simon again? Should he say hi, or should he just...ignore him? Did Simon want to be ignored? Maybe he should let Simon make first contact, this time. Let him go at his own pace.
But no, he's being naïve again. Simon doesn't want to talk to him. He told Wilhelm, he said; You need to do it alone. If that wasn't a hint that Simon didn't want to talk to Wilhelm, then he didn't know what was.
Still, the prospect of seeing Simon's face again but the knots inside of Wilhelm loosen. To be able to catalogue every line and curve, commit it to memory again and again. To see his perfect, dark curls fall into his eyes. And to see those eyes, honey and chocolate and every sweet thing on earth all mixed into one colour. A colour that said Home. To hear Simon sing in the opening choir, angelic and sultry all at once. Maybe it would be worth the pain of knowing that he could only look, never touch.
But he'd soon find out that none of it mattered.
Because Simon wasn't there.