The Royal Agreement

Chapter Ten

After what felt like an eternity in the air and another half-hour drive, we finally arrived at our destination. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew, Mom was gently shaking my shoulder, her voice soft as she woke me up.

“Ciella, we’re here.”

I groggily rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep, and stepped out of the car. The first thing that hit me was the crisp, cool air—so different from what I was used to. It was probably just less polluted. But what really took my breath away was the sight before me. I stood there, frozen for a moment, my brain struggling to catch up with what my eyes were seeing.

Amalienborg Palace.

I’d seen this place before. Not just in pictures or history books, but in a photo—a photo I had found tucked away among my parents’ things. The same photo I had stared at countless times, trying to remember when or why I had been here. And now, standing in front of it, I felt a strange mix of awe and confusion.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sprawling complex. The architecture was grand, majestic even, with intricate details that made it look like something out of a fairytale. It was as if every stone, every corner of this place, was whispering to me, telling me that I had been here before.

My senses were practically screaming it. But the “when” and “why” remained shrouded in the fog of my lost memories.

As I stood there, trying to piece together the fragments of my past, the sound of doors opening and closing brought me back to the present. Our luggage was being unloaded, and soon after, a group of staff appeared, their uniforms crisp and formal. They moved with practiced efficiency, and leading them was a fine old woman who exuded an air of quiet authority. She approached my parents first, curtsying with grace, and then—much to my surprise—she curtsied to me as well.

I blinked, taken aback by the gesture. Formalities? For me? I wasn’t royalty, so why the curtsy? The confusion gnawed at me, making me feel like I was missing something vital, something that everyone else seemed to know.

“Welcome back to Amalienborg Palace!” the woman said with a warm smile.

Welcome back?

“I’m sure you had a tiring journey,” she continued softly. “We shall escort you to your rooms so you can rest. The Queen and the Queen Mother will meet you later today, along with the Crown Prince.”

I nodded absentmindedly, still trying to wrap my head around everything that was happening. Welcome back. That phrase echoed in my mind like a broken record. When had I ever been here before? And why couldn’t I remember it?

We were led through the palace, the grandeur of the place only adding to my growing sense of unease. The floors were polished to a mirror-like sheen, and the walls were adorned with paintings and tapestries that spoke of a rich history I was no longer sure I hadn’t been part of.

As we walked, I couldn’t help but notice the respectful nods and curtsies the staff offered, not just to my parents, but to me as well. It was like being in the middle of a dream—one that felt eerily real and yet utterly surreal.

When we finally reached our rooms, I was led to one that was three doors down from my parents. The moment I stepped inside, I felt like I had walked into a different world. The room was bathed in soft hues of old rose and white, with furniture that looked like it had been plucked from a royal palace—well, I mean they had been. I’m in a palace after all.

It was the kind of room I had only ever seen in movies, the kind of room where princesses slept. But I wasn’t a princess. I was just… me. A girl with a mountain of confusion and no memories to climb.

I wandered around the room, taking in the ornate details—the delicate carvings on the furniture, the rich fabrics, the chandelier that hung like a crown from the ceiling. Everything was so beautiful, so… perfect. And it made me feel out of place like I didn’t belong here. Like I was an imposter.

I opened one of the wardrobes out of curiosity and was greeted by a collection of dresses that looked like they belonged to royalty. The fabrics were rich, the designs elegant, and the thought of wearing them made me feel like I was playing dress-up in someone else’s life.

I quickly closed the wardrobe, feeling a pang of anxiety. This was too much. It was all too much. I walked to the bed and lay down, staring up at the intricately decorated ceiling.

My thoughts drifted to what I could be doing right now if I were back home. Maybe dissecting a cat in a lab class or running a Biochemistry experiment. Instead, here I was, in Copenhagen, surrounded by luxury that felt as foreign as the memories I couldn’t grasp.

I had come here with the hope of finding answers, of piecing together the fragments of my past. But the more I saw, the more questions seemed to pile up.

After a while, boredom began to creep in, the itch of restlessness making it impossible to lie still. I stood up, deciding that I couldn’t just stay cooped up in this room. I needed to move, to do something—anything—to distract myself from the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my head.

I stepped out of the room, unsure if it was even allowed, but needing the distraction too badly to care. As I walked through the palace halls, the staff continued to greet me with polite bows and curtsies, which only added to my discomfort. I returned their greetings awkwardly, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that I was missing something crucial.

I was about to push open the huge, majestic double doors that led outside when I saw a figure climbing up the stairs. My heart nearly stopped when I realized who it was.

Victor.

I froze, my mind struggling to make sense of what I was seeing. What was he doing here? Why was he in Amalienborg Palace, of all places? Why did my speculations seem correct now? He looked up and saw me, his eyes widening in surprise. He stopped in his tracks, and for a moment, we just stared at each other, neither of us knowing what to say.

I blinked hard, trying to dispel the confusion that was quickly turning into a full-blown headache. Victor was the first to speak, his voice breaking the silence between us.

“I was about to fetch you, Ciella. Where are you going?”

“I was bored,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just strolling around this floor.”

“The staff allowed you?” he asked a hint of surprise in his tone.

I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Nobody stopped me. They kept greeting me.” I paused, my curiosity getting the better of me. “What are you doing here, Victor?”

He looked at me for a long moment before replying, “You’ll find out soon. But first, we need to go to the other palace to meet my grandmother. They want us there. I have no idea what it’s about, but we just have to comply.”

I nodded, though my mind was already racing ahead, trying to connect the dots that seemed to be multiplying by the second. Grandmother? Was it the Queen? Why did everything suddenly feel like it was spiraling out of my control?

We walked together to the palace next door, my thoughts spinning like a carousel. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something Victor wasn’t telling me—something big.

As we made our way through the corridors, I noticed the staff bowing to him, and once again, they did the same to me. I felt like I was in the middle of a grand charade, with everyone playing a role except me. I was just a spectator, trying to figure out the plot.

What was going on? Why did everyone treat Victor with such reverence? And why did I feel like they were doing the same with me?

The question that had been gnawing at me since we arrived finally bubbled to the surface: Could Victor be… royalty? The thought seemed absurd at first, but the more I considered it, the more it made sense. The urgent summons back to Denmark, the way everyone deferred to him, the way it felt like he was leading me to meet the Queen and Queen Mother… it all pointed to something much bigger than I had imagined.

But if Victor was royalty, what did that make me? And why couldn’t I remember any of this? The more I tried to piece it together, the more tangled the threads became. Was it my amnesia blocking the memories? Or had I somehow been kept in the dark all this time?

I pushed the thoughts aside as we reached another set of majestic double doors. The interiors here were different—sleeker, more modern, contrasting with the vintage theme of the palace I was staying in. But the elegance remained, reminding me of the weight of the history and tradition that these walls held.

As Victor prepared to open the doors, my heart pounded in my chest, anticipation and anxiety mingling in a way that made it hard to breathe. Whatever was behind those doors, I had a feeling it would change everything.

Victor straightened his back as the tension in the room became clear. Two guards stood outside, their hands on the doorknobs, poised to open the doors for us. Despite the swirling emotions, his expression remained stoic, though I could see the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

“I don’t know what they’re talking about inside, but we should go. It seems they need us,” Victor said, his voice calm but with an underlying current of unease.

I took a deep breath, glancing down at my outfit—an old Pusheen t-shirt paired with jeans and white tennis shoes. Hardly the attire for an occasion like this.

Meanwhile, Victor looked like he had stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine, with his crisp powder blue shirt, perfectly tailored gray pantsuit, and not a hair out of place. He even smelled incredible, a scent that was both comforting and intimidating.

And here I was, looking like I’d just rolled out of bed. I’d never felt so out of place in my life.