Prologue
Why does a little girl only dream of being a princess? Why does being a rich young lady seem entrancing or exciting? I was born that rich lady. I’ve been pampered by everyone I’ve met, given countless of gifts. I was the only daughter of the King and Queen of Norway. I was actually a princess.
I grew up with every girls toddler dream. I lived in a castle in Oslo, Norway’s capital city. It was very big, and very boring. I had explored every nook and corner in that palace, found suitable hiding places from my many nursemaids. Now that I was sixteen, I was entering the ‘irritable teenager’ phase nursemaids-and my parents-hated. My parents loved me. Even them, gone for weeks on business, leaving their only daughter alone to attend to her studies.
Even though I studied my country without complaint, I still dreamed of a different lie, to not be coddled like a pet. I dreamed of being a normal teenager. A teenager who had a job and a bad car, instead of a limo and horse.
I sighed as I watched the groundskeeper work. I was sitting on my window bench from my second story bedroom window. I knew that my horse, Haldis, would be eating. I decided to go out to ride her in an hour.
“Nikolina!” My father called. By the sound of the echo, he was on the first floor. My mother added on, ordering me downstairs in Norwegian.
“Coming, Mother.” I called. I preferred speaking English at home. I knew Norwegian fluently. Speaking English made me think harder, a language I could almost fully understand. She yelled back in Norwegian. As a queen, my mother was famous for her temper.
I picked up the skirts of the slim dress I was required to wear while I was at home. I trotted down the stairs at a lazy pace. I passed the grainy photographs of my great-grandmother, the Crown Princess Märtha of Norway. I lean over and kiss her photograph.
“I love you, Grandmother.” I whispered. Then I turned around and hurried to the consul room. I opened the door and curtsied as my mother, small and delicate, kissed me on the forehead.
“Nikolina.” She said. She was grinning exuberantly, like the diamonds on the small tiara that rested on a mound of graying hair.
“Yes?” I ask, straightening up. My father hugged me.
“I love you.” I whispered to him. He kissed the centre of my scalp.
“I love you to, but we have seen how much you hate it here.” He told me. I take a seat on an ornate wooden chair.
“Is that true?” My mother asked.
“Yes and no.” I said, “I love it here, I do, but I’ve spent sixteen years here. I want to do something different.”
“Of course, my dear,” My father said. “How would you like to go to America?” My jaw dropped.
“Alone?” I asked.
“At Hilton Hall. We have been assured it is the best private boarding school in the state.” My mother said.
“You wouldn’t be alone,” My father said, “You’ll have a maid and a butler, and a personal driver.” I stared at him blankly.
“But I don’t want a maid or a butler. Do you suppose any of those girls have a maid who travels with them?” I asked, “I want to be a normal American girl. At least let me have that pleasure.” My parents stared at each other for a few long moments. I held my breath and, out of habit, toyed with a lock of my hair. I looked up with imploring eyes.
“Please?” I asked quietly. My father sighed and rolled his deep, dark eyes.
“Alright, Nikolina, you may go without escorts.” He said. I squealed.
“Takk, Fader, Takk, mor,” I said, thanking them in Norwegian. My mother smiled, a vague ghost on her lips.
“You leave in two days. Go practice your English.” My mother told me. I got up and skipped form the room. I was headed to America.
