Chapter 11
Harald
The wheels of the jet smoothly touched down at JFK airport, sending a flutter through my stomach that had nothing to do with the landing. My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone, checking Daniel's message for the hundredth time.
The smile emoji both calmed and terrified me. Erik sat across from me, his face a mask of professional concern.
"Your Highness, the car is ready. With your diplomatic status you've already been precleared through customs and we've arranged-"
"Please, not now." I pressed my palms against my thighs, willing them to stop shaking. "And no 'Your Highness' in New York. Remember? Here it's just Harald or boss."
Erik nodded, though his lips tightened with disapproval. I knew he worried - it was his job to worry - but this moment wasn't about protocol or security. It was about Daniel.
The tarmac stretched before us as we deplaned. A sleek black car waited, its windows tinted against the morning sun. My security detail maintained a respectful distance, but their presence weighed on me. How could I possibly have a normal first meeting with four agents watching my every move?
My phone buzzed. Another message from Daniel: "Already on my third cappuccino. Nervous energy is real."
A laugh escaped me, genuine and unguarded. He was nervous too. Somehow that made everything better and worse at the same time. I typed back a quick response, telling him I'd landed safely and was on my way.
We got into the car and it smoothly pulled away from the tarmac, quickly departing the airport and weaving through traffic. The leather seats creaked as I shifted, wrestling with my tie. Through the tinted windows, Manhattan's skyline loomed closer, though traffic crawled at a snail's pace.
"Erik, hand me that bag." I pointed to the leather duffel containing my change of clothes.
He passed it over without comment, but his expression spoke volumes. The partition between us and the driver was up, giving me what passed for privacy these days.
I yanked off my suit jacket, carefully folded from years of habit. The crisp white shirt followed, replaced by a soft grey sweater that Ella had helped me pick out. It felt strange, dressing down instead of up, but I wanted Daniel to see me - just me - not some polished royal facade.
"Your High- Harald," Erik corrected himself. "Are you certain about this?"
My fingers fumbled with the button of my dress pants. "No, I'm not certain about anything." The dark jeans slid on easier than expected, though maneuvering in the back seat was awkward. "But I need to do this."
A horn blared outside, making me jump. Through the window, I watched yellow cabs weave between lanes, their drivers gesturing wildly. The chaos of New York felt fitting - my heart was racing just as frantically.
I stuffed my formal clothes into the duffel, then caught my reflection in the window. The man staring back looked almost normal. Almost like someone Daniel might want to know. My hand rose to smooth my hair, but I forced it down. Let it be messy. Let something about me be imperfect for once.
"How do I look?" I asked Erik, though I wasn't sure I wanted his answer.
"Like someone trying very hard not to look like himself."
I laughed, the sound tight with nerves. "That's exactly what I'm going for."
The traffic crawled through Queens, each red light stretching into infinity. My phone screen lit up again - another message from Daniel. My thumb hovered over it, heart pounding against my ribs.
What was I thinking? Flying across an ocean to meet someone who didn't even know who I really was? The weight of my crown had never felt heavier, even though I wasn't wearing it.
"We could still turn around," Erik said softly from beside me. "I can have the plane readied-"
"No." The word came out sharper than intended. I unlocked my phone, Daniel's last message burning into my retinas. A selfie of him at the coffee shop, hair slightly mussed, dark eyes bright with anticipation.
My fingers twisted the hem of my sweater. The fabric probably cost more than Daniel made in a month. Everything about me was a lie - my casual clothes, my vague stories about working in finance, my carefully curated photos that never showed the palace.
The Manhattan skyline loomed closer, glass towers reaching toward the clouds. Each mile marker brought me nearer to a collision between my two worlds - the carefully constructed fiction I'd built with Daniel and the suffocating reality of who I really was.
I typed out a message, deleted it, typed again. Nothing felt right. How could anything feel right when our entire connection was built on an omission so massive it felt like betrayal?
"Five minutes to destination," the driver announced through the intercom.
My stomach lurched. The phone slipped from my sweaty hands, clattering to the floor. Erik reached for it, but I grabbed it first, clutching it like a lifeline.
"What if-" The words stuck in my throat. "What if he hates me when he finds out?"
Erik's face softened with understanding. He'd been by my side through every crisis, every moment of doubt. But this time, he had no diplomatic solution to offer, no carefully worded statement to smooth things over.
The car turned onto a street lined with cafes and shops. Bean There, Done That's sign came into view further down the block. The driver parked a reasonable distance away, allowing us to remain out of sight of the cafe.
"Harald." Erik's voice cut through my thoughts. "We'll do a sweep of the location first. Standard procedure." I watched as Erik pulled out his cell and spoke softly to my security detail, giving them the go-ahead to begin their inspection while emphasizing the need to stay inconspicuous.
I found my attention fixed on the phone in my hands, scrolling through our past conversations.
The easy banter, the late-night confessions, the silly selfies - would any of that translate to real life?
Or would the weight of who I really was crush whatever this fragile connection might be?
Was I really ready for this or was I making a massive mistake in coming here?
I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, remembering what Ingrid had taught me. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The leather seat creaked as I shifted, focusing on why I'd flown across an ocean.
Daniel. His laugh in our late-night call. The way he'd encouraged me before that speech without even knowing who I really was. How he saw me - just me - not the crown, not the expectations, not my father's disappointment.
"I need this," I whispered, more to myself than Erik. "I need to know if someone can care about who I am underneath all of... this." I gestured vaguely at the security detail, the diplomatic plates, the whole circus that followed me everywhere.
The door opened and I stepped onto the bustling New York sidewalk. The autumn air hit my face, carrying the scent of coffee and exhaust fumes - so different from Copenhagen's carefully maintained streets.
A clothing store's window caught my eye as I walked.
I stopped, studying my reflection. The grey sweater hung loose on my frame, the jeans sitting naturally on my hips.
My hair, free from its usual styled precision, fell slightly across my forehead.
Without the suits, without the medals and sashes, without the weight of centuries of tradition draped across my shoulders. .. I looked young. Normal.
A group of students pushed past me, laughing and shoving each other playfully. None of them gave me a second glance. No whispered recognition, no subtle phone cameras, no careful bows or curtsies.
For the first time in years, I was invisible. Just another face in the crowd. Just Harald.
The coffee shop's sign swung gently in the breeze ahead of me. Inside, Daniel waited, probably on his fourth cappuccino by now. My hands trembled, but not from anxiety this time.
For once, someone would meet me as myself. Not the Crown Prince. Not the future king. Just me.
Through the cafe's window, sunlight caught Daniel's profile as he leaned against the table, hands moving nervously around a cold cappucino as he waited.
My breath caught. The photos we'd shared hadn't captured the vibrant energy that radiated from him, the way his whole body participated in conversation.
He wore a dark blue sweater that complemented his warm caramel skin, his dark curls slightly disheveled like he'd been running his fingers through them.
A genuine smile lit up his face as I saw him glance down at his phone and type something, moments later my phone vibrated as I received his message.
My feet refused to move. I stood rooted to the sidewalk, drinking in every detail.
The way he shifted his weight when he leaned forward, intent on the messages on his phone screen.
How his delicate fingers tapped against it rapidly as he sent another message.
The slight scrunch of his nose when he smiled.
I needed this moment, needed to memorize Daniel as he was right now - completely himself, unguarded, before my presence complicated everything.
He checked his phone again, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Was he nervous too? The thought gave me courage. I watched as he ran a hand through his hair for probably the hundredth time, making it even messier.
My phone buzzed in my pocket - probably another message from him wondering where I was. But I couldn't look away from the real person standing just feet away from me. Daniel was no longer just pixels on a screen or a voice through my phone. He was flesh and blood and absolutely beautiful.
I tugged at my sweater one last time, heart thundering against my ribs. This was it. No crown, no title, no royal protocol. Just me, about to meet someone who had somehow become incredibly important to me without ever seeing me in person.
Daniel glanced toward the window and I ducked back, not ready to be seen just yet. One more deep breath. One more moment of being just Harald before I walked through that door.
My hand trembled as I reached for the brass door handle. The metal felt cool against my palm, grounding me in this moment. A bell chimed overhead as I pulled, and warmth rushed out to meet me.
The rich aroma of coffee enveloped me - darker and more complex than the palace's carefully curated brews. Espresso machines hissed and whirred, their mechanical symphony mixing with the lazy weekend chatter of customers. A barista called out someone's elaborate drink order over the din.
My feet crossed the threshold, and suddenly the careful distance I'd maintained dissolved. The same air Daniel breathed now filled my lungs. The same wooden floors creaked under our feet. The same sunlight that caught his profile now warmed my skin.
Someone bumped past me with a muttered "sorry," jolting me from my trance. I shifted closer to the wall, my security training kicking in as I automatically scanned the room. Two exits. Seventeen customers. Three staff members. Window seats exposed, corner tables defensible.
Stop it, I commanded myself. This wasn't a state function. No one was watching. No one cared.
Except Daniel. He hadn't noticed me yet, still focused on his phone. From this angle, I could see the way his eyelashes cast tiny shadows on his cheeks. The corner of his mouth twitched upward as he typed - probably sending me another message wondering where I was.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from him.
The Daniel I'd imagined while texting had been a sketch, an outline, even with the photos he'd sent me.
The real person before me was painted in vibrant colors - the rich brown of his eyes, the soft pink of his lips, the warm caramel of his skin.
The coffee shop's sounds faded to white noise. My heart pounded so hard I was sure everyone could hear it over the espresso machines. Just a few more steps and I'd be close enough for him to notice me. Close enough for this dream to become reality.
Daniel's head snapped up at the sound of the door chime as another person entered behind me, and our eyes locked across the room.
Everything I'd planned to say evaporated. My carefully rehearsed "Hi, I'm Harald" dissolved on my tongue. The speech I'd practiced a hundred times on the flight vanished like morning mist.
Daniel's dark eyes widened with recognition. A smile bloomed across his face - not the polite, measured smiles I was used to receiving at formal functions, but something raw and genuine that crinkled the corners of his eyes. My heart stuttered in my chest.
He stood up from his chair, the movement sending his empty cappuccino cup rattling against its saucer. A faint blush colored his cheeks as he steadied it with quick fingers. That small moment of imperfection, of human awkwardness, made my own nervousness ease slightly.
I remained frozen in the doorway, drinking in the details our phone cameras hadn't captured. The way his curls caught the afternoon light streaming through the windows. How his blue sweater hung loose at his collar, revealing a hint of collarbone. The slight tremor in his hands that matched my own.
Our gazes remained connected across the cafe, neither of us speaking.
The bustling sounds of coffee grinding and customers chatting faded to background noise.
In that moment, it was just us - no crowns, no titles, no expectations.
Just Harald and Daniel, finally sharing the same space after weeks of digital connection.
My feet felt leaden as I took a step forward. Then another. The distance between us shrank with each movement, but the words I needed still refused to come.