In a shocking twist that has left the Norwegian monarchy reaching for the smelling salts and a very good lawyer, Crown Prince Haakon's heir apparent has been found guilty of not one but two counts of rape. Yes, you heard that correctly. The son of the future King of Norway, a man whose bloodline presumably includes a dash of Viking plunder and a generous helping of diplomatic immunity, has been told by a British court that his entitled appendages are not, in fact, above the law.
Details are, as ever, grimly salacious. The offences, committed in a London hotel room against two separate women, paint a picture of a young man who clearly believed that his royal lineage came with a side order of absolute sexual impunity. The jury, presumably unswayed by any lingering reverence for the House of Glücksburg, took less than a day to deliver their verdict. The judge, a woman whose stern face looked like it had been carved from the very rock of British justice, warned that a lengthy custodial sentence was now 'almost certain.' One can only imagine the Crown Prince's reaction. Probably a stiff drink and a very long call to the family's PR crisis manager.
Now, let us pause to contemplate the glorious irony of this situation. Here we have a young man who, by the sheer luck of a sperm lottery, was born into a European fairy tale. A life of palaces, skis, and inexplicably expensive jumpers. Yet he chose to travel to the land of fish and chips and queueing only to treat women as if they were concubines in a historical reenactment. The British legal system, for all its flaws and its tendency to resemble a particularly verbose episode of 'Yes, Minister,' took one look at this pampered princeling and said, 'Not on our watch, sunshine.'
Let us also spare a thought for the victims. Two women who will now be forever known as 'the ones who brought down a prince.' They will face the inevitable whispers, the incredulous stares, the tedious assertion that 'he had so much to lose.' But they also have the quiet, steel-backed satisfaction of knowing that in a world where power still bends the knee to money and influence, they made the system work. Just this once. And for that, they deserve every ounce of our respect, and perhaps a lifetime supply of gin.
As for the convicted prince, he now joins the ignoble ranks of celebrities and politicians who have learned that a hotel room is not a private fiefdom. He will likely serve his time in a British prison, a place where the only thing that outranks his title is the sheer volume of British sarcasm he will have to endure. One can only imagine the delights of prison cuisine, the compulsory exercise, and the constant, crushing boredom. It will be a far cry from the majesty of the Norwegian fjords.
So raise a glass, Britain. A nation that can still, against all odds and with a healthy dose of pomp, prosecute a prince for being a predatory berk. It's almost enough to restore one's faith in the good old British stiff upper lip. Just don't expect the Norwegians to send us any more herring anytime soon.
