Chapter 10
2288 Words
The return to Achterhoek was not the homecoming Casper had dreamed of during his first sleepless weeks in the palace. It was a tactical operation.
The Royal Marechaussee had been preparing for a month. The route from The Hague to Gelderland was lined with security, and the small village of Hummelo—once Casper’s entire world—had been transformed into a high-security zone. Casper sat in the back of the armored Audi, his eyes fixed on the passing scenery. The "black gold" soil he had tilled for thirty years was turning up in the plows of neighbors he used to call friends. Now, they were strangers who stood by the roadside, waving orange flags at a motorcade.
"Your schedule is tight, Casper," Floris said, checking his watch. "The opening of the new agricultural center, a lunch with the Provincial Governor, and then the walkabout in the village square. We leave by five."
"I know the schedule, Floris," Casper replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
He was wearing a charcoal grey suit, the Prince of Orange’s signet ring catching the light. He looked every bit the serious, aloof royal the press had dubbed "The Iron Prince." But as the car crossed the town line, his hand instinctively went to his pocket, touching the jagged scrap of the note he still carried.
The walkabout in the village square was a sea of faces. Casper moved with a practiced, distant grace, shaking hands and nodding at well-wishers. He was a statue in motion, performing the role he had traded his soul for.
Then, he saw her.
She was standing near the edge of the crowd, tucked under the arm of a tall, sturdy man with a sun-reddened neck—Evert Janssen. Aniek wasn't wearing a red Polo; she was dressed in a sensible floral coat, her hair pinned back. She looked older. The light that used to dance in her eyes when they sat in the keet had been replaced by a quiet, resigned stillness.
Casper’s heart, which he had spent six months freezing into ice, shattered in a single beat.
He broke protocol. He ignored the Governor’s attempt to lead him toward the town hall and walked straight toward the barricade where she stood. The security detail shifted instantly, forming a tight perimeter around him. The crowd fell into an expectant hush.
Evert Janssen stiffened, his hand tightening on Aniek’s shoulder. He looked at Casper with a mixture of defiance and fear. He was the man who had the life Casper wanted; Casper was the man who had the power to take it away.
"Aniek," Casper said. His voice, usually a polished baritone, cracked. For a moment, the Prince of Orange vanished, and the farmer was back.
Aniek looked up at him. She wasn't curtsy. She didn't smile. Her gaze was as cold as the marble floors of Noordeinde. "Your Highness," she said, her voice clipped.
"Can we... I need a moment," Casper said, gesturing vaguely toward the quiet side of the church nearby.
"I don't think that's appropriate," Evert began, but Aniek placed a hand on his chest.
"It’s alright, Evert," she said quietly. "I’ll be a minute."
They stood in the shadow of the ancient stone church, just out of earshot of the guards. The smell of damp earth and blooming linden trees was agonizingly familiar.
"I didn't get the note, Aniek," Casper said, the words tumbling out. "Bastiaan—he took it. He tore it up. I didn't know your father was forcing the marriage. I didn't know you were waiting at the gate. I thought you had moved on because I was a 'Royal Mess.'"
Aniek listened, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't look relieved. She looked exhausted. "Does it matter now, Casper? Or Teun? Whoever you are today?"
"It matters to me," he whispered. "I sent the book. I’ve been watching... I wanted to make sure you were safe. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn't fast enough. I’m sorry I let them turn me into this."
He reached out, his fingers trembling, as if to touch her hand. She stepped back.
"Don't," she said. The word was a sharp, clean cut. "You’re an official state visitor, and I am a married woman. You apologized. Fine. I accept it. But don't think this changes anything."
"I can fix it," Casper said desperately. "The marriage—it was under duress. My father, the King... we can find a way to annul—"
"Stop it!" Aniek’s voice rose, a flash of her old fire returning. "Look at yourself! You’re talking like a tyrant. You think because you have a title and a ring, you can just reach down and rearrange my life again? You already did that once by becoming a Prince."
"I didn't choose this!"
"No, you didn't. But you’re choosing to stay," she countered. "You’re choosing to be 'Casper.' And I have chosen to be Mrs. Janssen. Evert is a good man. He’s steady. He doesn't have a security detail, and he doesn't have a secret intelligence team watching my every move."
She looked him directly in the eyes, her expression softening into a profound, hollow pity.
"I don't want to see you in my life again, Casper. Every time I see your face on the news or a stamp, it’s a reminder of a man who died the night the black SUV pulled into that gas station. I’m trying to be happy. I’m trying to build something real with a man who is actually here. You? You’re just a ghost in a suit."
The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of thirty years of shared history and six months of betrayal.
"Is that it, then?" Casper asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"That’s it," Aniek replied. She took a deep breath, her eyes glancing back toward her husband, who was watching from a distance. "Go back to your palace. Be the King they want you to be. But leave Achterhoek to the farmers."
She turned and walked away, her footsteps steady on the gravel. She didn't look back. Casper watched her return to Evert, watched the man wrap an arm around her, and watched them disappear into the crowd.
Floris approached him cautiously. "Casper? We have to go. The Governor is waiting."
Casper stood in the shadow of the church for a long time. He felt the coldness returning, the ice crawling back over his heart, thicker and harder than before. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the jagged scrap of paper that said Please, and let it fall onto the wet grass.
"Let's go," Casper said.
His voice was once again the flat, cultured baritone of a Prince. He walked back to the motorcade, his back straight, his head held high. He ignored the cheers. He ignored the flags.
As the Audi sped away from Hummelo, Casper looked out the window at the receding fields. He realized that Aniek was right. Teun Van Buren was dead. He was buried today in the soil of Achterhoek.
In the front seat, the head of his security detail turned around. "Your Highness? Your next briefing is on the trade delegation to Singapore."
"Begin," Casper commanded.
He didn't look back. The farmer was gone. The Prince had returned to his gilded cage, and this time, he was the one who locked the door.
~~~
The sun was setting over the North Sea, casting long, bruised shadows across the private drawing room of the Van den Berg estate. This was not the palace, but in many ways, it was where the real power of the Netherlands was brokered.
Alexander Van den Berg stood by the fireplace, his silhouette sharp and unyielding. His wife, Anneliese, sat stiffly on the velvet sofa, her pearls reflecting the dimming light. Elisa leaned against the far wall, her arms crossed, watching her family with the weary detachment of someone who knew a storm was coming.
Saskia stood in the center of the room. She was dressed in a sharp, ivory sheath dress that made her look like a blade.
"I’ve spent six months watching the monarchy tilt on its axis," Saskia began, her voice steady and clinical. "I’ve watched Floris struggle to reconcile his loyalty to a brother who doesn't want the throne with a role he was never quite strong enough to hold on his own. And I’ve watched Casper... or Teun... turn into a block of ice."
"Saskia, what is this?" Anneliese asked, her voice fluttering. "The engagement to Floris is the bedrock of our family’s future. The invitations are practically drafted."
"The engagement is over," Saskia said. The words fell like stones into a still pond. "I will not marry Floris. He has the heart of a poet and the spine of a younger brother. He will never be the sun this country orbits. Not anymore."
Elisa let out a sharp, cynical laugh from the corner. "So what? You’re just giving up on being Queen? That doesn't sound like you, Sas."
"I never said I was giving up on being Queen," Saskia countered, turning her cold gaze toward her sister. "I am saying that Floris cannot be the King. He has been displaced by blood and by law. To marry him now is to marry a prince who will forever be in the shadow of a farmer."
Alexander Van den Berg cleared his throat. It was a heavy, tectonic sound. He stepped forward, a leather-bound folder in his hand.
"Your sister is right," Alexander said, his voice a low rumble. "The political climate has shifted. The people don't want the 'Spare' anymore. They are obsessed with the 'Lost Prince.' But Casper is a liability. He is unstable, heartbroken, and currently ruling from a place of spite. He needs an anchor. He needs a Queen who understands the machinery of state better than he understands the rotation of crops."
"Father, surely you aren't suggesting..." Elisa started, her heart beginning to thud against her ribs.
"I have spoken with the King," Alexander continued, ignoring Elisa. "Willem Hendrik is desperate. He sees his son slipping away into a dark, silent depression. He fears Casper will abdicate or, worse, become a sovereign who refuses to engage. The King needs a guarantee that the Van den Berg influence will remain at the center of the House of Orange."
Saskia stepped closer to her father. "The solution is simple. The betrothal will be transferred. I will not marry the second son. I will marry the first one."
The room went deathly silent.
"You want to marry Casper?" Elisa whispered, stepping into the light. "He hates you, Saskia. He hates everything we stand for. He’s in love with a girl in a village who just broke his heart. You’d be marrying a man who won't even look you in the eye."
"I don't need him to love me, Elisa," Saskia said, her chin lifting. "I need him to wear the crown while I hold the scepter. I will be the Queen this country needs to navigate the scandal of his return. I will be his voice in the Estates General and his partner in the public eye. In exchange, our family secures the throne for the next generation."
"It's a business merger," Anneliese breathed, her eyes widening as she realized the sheer scale of the ambition.
"And Floris?" Elisa asked, her voice trembling with anger. "What about Floris? You’ve been his world for years. You’re going to just... trade him in for the bigger model?"
"Floris will be taken care of," Alexander said dismissively. "He will retain his titles and his stipends. He might even find a sense of relief. He was never suited for the weight of the crown, Elisa. Deep down, he knows that."
Saskia looked at Elisa, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. "The King has already agreed in principle. Casper will be told tonight. It will be framed as a matter of national stability. A way to 'unify' the old guard with the new prince."
"He’ll fight you," Elisa said. "He’s a farmer, Saskia. When they don't want to move, they dig their heels in."
"Then I’ll pull harder," Saskia replied.
Alexander opened the folder and slid a document across the mahogany table. "The announcement is prepared. We wait only for the formal signing of the new betrothal contract. Casper will marry Saskia in the spring. The 'Farmer King' will have a Van den Berg Queen, and the ghost of Teun Van Buren will finally be laid to rest."
Elisa looked at her father, then at her sister. She saw the cold, calculated gleam in their eyes. They weren't talking about marriage; they were talking about a siege.
"You’re all monsters," Elisa whispered.
She turned and bolted from the room, the heavy oak doors slamming behind her. As she ran through the marble halls of her father's house, she grabbed her phone. She needed to find Floris. She needed to tell him that the sister she shared a name with had just traded his heart for a piece of gold.
Behind her, in the drawing room, Saskia picked up a crystal glass of sherry and raised it to her father.
"To the Queen," Alexander said.
"To the Queen," Saskia echoed, her eyes as hard and bright as diamonds.
- Writer
