“It’s raining hard outside, and it’s cold. Just thinking that he might be injured, unconscious somewhere, with no one knowing… If I can never apologize to him again…”
“No, Willy!” Hans Borg cupped her face, staring into her eyes to convey strength. “Look at me. The Prince will be fine; you’ll all be fine. Today’s events will pass. Do you believe me?”
Wilhelmina appeared to return to her childhood, finding support in Hans Borg during moments of uncertainty. He wiped her tears and drew her into his embrace.
Wilhelmina sighed, “Owen, you haven’t called me by my name in quite a while.”
Her tone sent an electric current through the Prime Minister. Cells that had been dormant began to revive, his frozen chest thawing under her body heat. He was overwhelmed, understanding what his long-standing anxiety had been for. He held her tighter, closing his moist eyes.
“I’m sorry, Willy, I’m sorry…”
“It’s not your fault,” Wilhelmina replied. “I was just too proud. Annabelle’s death was indeed better. You did nothing wrong.”
“No… not that…” Hans Borg sighed, his face pressed against her soft hair. “Many things are too late now…”
“You have nothing to apologize for, Owen. You’re the Prime Minister now; we can’t be indiscriminate anymore. I should apologize for my pride and arrogance. Forgive me for my youth and lack of experience.”
Wilhelmina pulled away and stood up. “I can’t let them see me like this. If something happens to Albert, a fragile and out-of-control Queen will only make people more uneasy.”
Hans Borg looked at her sympathetically. “You don’t need to force yourself.”
Wilhelmina smiled. “I am a leader, Owen, and only then a woman.”
She took a deep breath, wiped her face, and walked towards the door. Just as she reached it, someone behind her suddenly grabbed her and turned her around.
Wilhelmina looked at Hans Borg questioningly, then was drawn into his embrace.
“I love you,” he said.
Wilhelmina smiled, “I know.”
Hans smiled, releasing her. He cupped her face one last time, straightened her hair, and kissed her forehead. A hurried knock interrupted them.
Wilhelmina opened the door, “Found him?”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” Cynthia exclaimed, “The Prince is slightly injured but fine. They’re on their way back!”
Wilhelmina rushed towards the door. Cynthia noticed Hans Borg gazing at the Queen’s hurried back with a misty smile, looking somewhat sad.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“I’m fine, Miss Steiman,” he replied, “Let’s follow her.”
Wilhelmina waited at the door for a few minutes before seeing the lights of a hover car. Guards carried Prince Albert down on a stretcher.
Without looking for Wilhelmina, she rushed to the stretcher, embracing his rain-soaked and cold body.
“I’m sorry…” the queen choked, whispering in his ear.
Albert felt his wife’s burning tears drip onto his neck. He reached out with his uninjured hand and embraced Wilhelmina’s trembling body.
“I’m sorry, darling.”
I’m fine, I’m sorry for worrying you…”
Prince Albert was taken to the palace medical room for treatment. His left shoulder was dislocated, and his left foot was fractured, which would inconvenience him for some time.
The earlier argument had dissipated. Wilhelmina sat by her husband’s bed, holding his hand tightly during the doctor’s treatment. Though silent, their connection spoke volumes.
The palace’s orange alert was lifted, guards returned to their posts, and ministers sighed in relief before heading home.
Cynthia, carrying ginger tea, saw Hans Borg smoking in the corner. His handsome face looked lonely and sad in the misty smoke, with a large wedding portrait of Queen Wilhelmina and her consort hanging on the opposite wall.
Feeling nosy, Cynthia approached him.
“Would you like some ginger tea, Mr. Hans Borg?”
Hans Borg turned his head slowly, responding, “They are truly a perfect couple, aren’t they?”
Cynthia glanced at the portrait, which depicted the happy newlyweds—noble, powerful, and envied.
“Smoking too much isn’t good for your health,” Cynthia said. “I hope I haven’t offended you. And thank you for your help today.”
His Majesty needed your comfort.”
“Always happy to serve,” Hans Borg said, extinguishing his cigarette. “I should take my leave. Please convey my regards to His Majesty and the Prince.”
“Of course. Good night, Mr. Hans Borg.” Cynthia curtsied.
She stood at the staircase, watching the young prime minister disappear into the night. For a moment, she almost felt he would never return.
Albert blinked and woke from his sleep.
Gone was the cold, damp grassland, replaced by a warm, dry bed. Someone was sleeping beside him, breathing softly. Her golden hair covered most of her face, with the tip of her slightly reddened nose showing, as if she had just been crying.
This scene was so familiar. He lay injured in bed, and she watched over him anxiously.
Albert leaned over and kissed his wife’s nose tip.
Wilhelmina woke up, saw him, then relaxed, moving closer to his side, resting her head on his chest.
“I’m sorry…” Albert said.
Wilhelmina laughed softly, “This is such a beautiful morning. You really shouldn’t start with that line.”
“Then what should I say?”
“‘I love you,’ how about that?”
Albert smiled, “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Wilhelmina propped herself up and gave Albert a gentle kiss.
Albert marveled at this hard-earned love, “Do I only get a reward when I’m injured?”
“I’m rewarding you because you’re injured,” Wilhelmina laughed, “This is the last time. In the future, our home will be like an office, maintaining 365 days of safety to receive a reward.”
“Is this the standardized family management you’re proposing?”
“Yes, do you have any objections, sir?”
“No objections, Your Majesty.” Albert agreed, “Your decisions are always wise.”
Wilhelmina gently caressed his face, then buried her head in his chest.
“I’m sorry for yesterday. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You’re not just my husband, Albert. You’re a prince of this empire and a decision-maker. I can’t be without you. I only say this in our bedroom.”
Albert laughed: “Even if you don’t say it, I know. My dear wife, without a good husband like me, you would surely be at a loss.”
Wilhelmina bit his shoulder playfully.
“Listen, darling. The doctor said you have a slight heart problem.”
Albert tensed up.
“But it was discovered early and isn’t serious,” Wilhelmina comforted. “A small surgery can resolve it.”
“Is it hereditary?” Albert asked worriedly.
“They estimate it is,” Wilhelmina said regretfully. “It’s okay, darling. Our future children may not inherit it.”
Even if they do, modern medicine can solve it.
Albert suppressed his anxiety, “I really didn’t expect this.”
“I don’t care, truly.” Wilhelmina hugged him tightly, “There are no perfect things in this world. We are happy, and that’s enough.”
Annabel’s assassination diverted media attention from rumors about the Prime Minister and the Queen. The official conclusion was that it was a revenge act by the victim’s family. Speculation about a “political assassination” faded as the deceased had passed, and intense debate gradually weakened over time.
Shortly after the Annabel incident, journalists discovered that Prime Minister Hans Berg, known for his uprightness, had begun dating. His partners included socialites, successful career women, TV anchors, doctors, and writers. These dates quickly became the focus of entertainment newspapers, indicating the Prime Minister’s attractiveness as a dating prospect.
“So, are you really considering marriage?” Wilhelmina asked as she and Hans walked down the royal garden’s grassy slope. “At your age, you should seriously consider this. Especially for a politician, a harmonious marriage is very necessary.”
