1 Prologue: An Exile That Is Not an Exile

Oslo, Norway, about 12 months earlier

Behind a majestic desk clearly indicating that it belonged to a man of great power sat a majestic man around sixty. He had light, slightly graying hair and pulled-back eyebrows over green eyes. The man was Olaf Meiden, the major shareholder and CEO of one of Norway's largest energy companies. He gazed thoughtfully at the young man, who sat on a couch in his office giving the impression that he would rather be in the claws of the beast than in this place.

Olaf found the young man's attitude irritating but not surprising. It had been some time since Gustav was as he once was, kind, smiling and warm. Specifically, he had changed so much since THAT event that his own father could hardly recognize him.

The younger man was a bit narrower in the shoulders but was otherwise almost a copy of the older one, clearly indicating close kinship. There was another significant difference in their appearance - the younger one, looking like he was in his mid-twenties, was definitely more handsome. He had a clearly defined but not angular jaw, which indicated a man of strong character, and a narrow, shapely nose. His hair, instead of a shade of gray, had clear flashes of red and with an unruly fringe fell over his unfriendly-looking bright green eyes set under thick, hostilely drawn-down eyebrows. Not surprisingly, Gustav was regarded as one of the most handsome young men in the country and an object of desire. His entire physique, however, emanated a negative energy so thick that it poisoned the air in the study. Relations between father and son were clearly not the best.

"You don't remember your grandmother well," Olaf Maiden said, trying to breathe in the thick atmosphere and remain calm. This was not easy with his son's attitude. "But you may remember that she always remembered with tenderness the palace in which she was born."

The younger man, Gustav Meiden, nodded slowly.

"She was the last generation of the aristocracy. As if that was something to be proud of." His voice was rough, which sounded unnatural, as if a warmer tone of baritone should come out of those beautifully outlined lips. The roughness was a sign of hostility rather than a permanent feature of his voice.

"Whether it was something to be proud of or not, it doesn't matter. My mother always wanted to regain the property they lost because of the war. And I always wanted to fulfill her dream. She didn't live to see it, but nevertheless I recovered it for our family."

"..."

It seemed that the recovery of his ancestors' foreign property Gustav could not have cared less about.

"Business matters keep me in the country, so I don't have time to take care of this property, that's why I thought of you..."

"Exile?" There was derision in Gustav's voice. He bestowed an even more hostile gaze on his father.

"Bullshit!" Olaf Meiden raised his voice more than necessary. "This is your grandmother's homeland! Her family home! Her dream! I thought you, with your interest in history, would know what respect for ancestors and their heritage is!"

"I am no longer interested in it. History," he announced in such an icy tone that even Olaf felt a shiver down his spine. There was nothing good coming out of this pathetic snot at this point.

"You're not interested in anything anymore!" exploded the older of the men. The younger man looked at him as if to ask whose fault this supposedly was. Olaf took a deep breath trying to calm down. "Gustav, you are my son, you are my only heir. Enough of your sulking. I'm not forcing you to start taking an interest in the company you will one day inherit, but for God's sake enough of your behavior. You want to be considered an adult, start behaving responsibly!"

"Fine," Gustav boldly looked at his father as if to challenge him. "I don't care where I live, so it might as well be the end of the world. The farther away from you, the better. I'll take care of this property but under two conditions."

"What conditions?" the elder Meiden pulled down his eyebrows. Was it a good guess that an 18th-century palace would be something that would interest his son? Maybe not right away, but in time Gustav might become interested in other aspects of life as well.

"You will give me unlimited funds for the restoration," announced Gustav. "The palace will be renovated at my discretion."

"Agreed, but I also have some conditions. I will trust you to restore the palace in the original spirit and the accounts will be kept by Felix and will be justified expenses for the palace and its grounds. No expenses unrelated to the restoration of the palace."

"Agreed. When should I leave?"

Olaf Meiden didn't expect that convincing his son would go so smoothly. Did Gustav really want to get away from him so badly?

"The building and grounds are a ruin. It's uninhabitable. You don't have to leave right away."

"No?" quipped Gustav. "I thought exile had an immediate effect."

"After all, I say it's not exile, dammit!" he slammed his fist on the desk. Snot really knew how to get him off balance. "This is our family's new home. Your new home," he added with a softer accent on the last sentence, as if trying to convince a stubborn child of something. "My mother always wanted it to belong to you so I registered the property deed in your name."

"Mine?"

"You are my mother's only grandchild, supposedly to whom should I bequeath it? Consider it a posthumous gift from her."

"...I understand," Gustav replied somewhat less hostilely. Since it wasn't a gift from his father, he could accept it. Olaf felt like clobbering the imperious greaser. "Do you have anything else to tell me?"

"In the matter of property, contact Krauze. He knows all the local regulations so he will be your help. Anyway, I delegated him to this task. I hope that's okay?"

"Sure. In the best possible way," his tone, however, replied that he would have had some thoughts about it if the whole matter concerned him even a little.

"That's all. Thank you for taking the time."

Gustav bowed stiffly and left giving the impression of being as hostile as when he spoke to his father. The door had barely closed behind him when a second door opened, letting a man Gustav's age into the office.

"It looks like you were right, Felix. Gustav will be able to find interest in this place."

Felix Krauze bowed to his employer.

"I've been friends with him for years. He may deny that he loves things related to the past, but I know what interests him. Such an exotic retreat will allow him to calm down."

"But won't such a place steeped in the past put new stupid ideas into his head?"

"With all due respect, Mr. Chairman, wherever you send Gustav, there are places that can put stupid ideas into his head. He is Gustav, after all. Fortunately, the area where the palace stands is quiet, peaceful and boring, so he's unlikely to find too many opportunities for... craziness there."

"I hope so. I hope I can count on your total support and that you will make sure that nothing bad happens to him? To him or through him."

"Of course, Mr. Chairman. After all, I am his friend."

Is that so? Olaf thought.

"All right, I believe in you. But I warn you, if there is any trouble, any trouble at all, I will hold you just as responsible as him, and this time there will be no mercy. Gustav is my son, but something like this I can forgive him only once. One more mistake and I will disinherit him."

Felix Krauze bowed low. The chairman hoped that this time he would keep a better eye on his son so nothing as scandalous would happen again....