When Marius Borg Høiby enters Courtroom 250 at Oslo District
Court on Tuesday morning, it will be one of the most watched
appearances in modern Norwegian legal history – but also one of the
least seen.
For the next seven weeks, the public will be denied any images
of the 29-year-old defendant, both inside the courtroom and outside
its doors. Judges have imposed a sweeping ban on photography, an
unusual step for a case that has drawn media attention from across
Europe and beyond. The effect is deliberate: to place a visual
barrier between Norway’s monarchy and a trial that threatens to
eclipse it.
Høiby, the son of Crown Princess Mette-Marit from a previous
relationship, will stand alone. Neither his mother nor his
stepfather, Crown Prince Haakon – the heir to the throne – will
attend the proceedings. The royal household has made clear it
intends to keep its distance, both physically and symbolically.
The absence will be as striking as the silence. No arrival
photographs. No courtroom sketches released by the court. No images
of the defendant leaving under escort. In a media age driven by
pictures, Norway’s biggest criminal trial in years will unfold
largely unseen.
The charges are grave. Prosecutors allege 38 offences, including
four counts of rape, multiple assaults, threats against a former
partner, criminal damage, drugs offences and driving violations. If
convicted on the most serious counts, Høiby could face a lengthy
prison sentence.
Høiby has denied the most serious accusations, including sexual
offences, but has admitted to some lesser charges.
The palace has been careful – pointedly so – to stress that
Høiby is not a public figure and does not carry a royal title. He
appears with the family only on special occasions and,
constitutionally speaking, sits outside the institution of the
monarchy.
Yet the distinction feels thin. Høiby grew up within the royal
orbit, has been publicly embraced by the Crown Prince as a son, and
has long been familiar to the Norwegian public. To many, he is part
of the family whether the palace says so or not.
That tension is now being tested in court – and in public
opinion. Commentators have described the case as unprecedented in
scale and sensitivity. Norway’s monarchy, widely admired for its
modesty and moral authority, has never faced scrutiny of this
intensity involving someone so closely connected to the crown.
The ban on images serves a dual purpose. It protects the
defendant’s right to a fair trial, but it also shields the monarchy
from a stream of visual associations that could linger long after
the verdict. No photographs mean no defining image – no single
frame that comes to symbolise the crisis.
