Chapter 28
Daniel
"Bad one?" Harald's voice cuts through the darkness, and I realize I must have cried out in my sleep again. The hospital room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of monitors and the city lights beyond the window.
"I'm fine," I mumble, trying to slow my racing heart.
The nightmare clings to me like cobwebs—Harald's body growing cold under my hands, the flatline sound echoing through empty corridors.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the images away, but they linger at the edges of my consciousness like unwelcome ghosts.
My t-shirt sticks to my back, damp with cold sweat, and I can taste the metallic tang of fear in my mouth.
These dreams have been haunting me for weeks now, each one more vivid than the last, leaving me gasping for breath in the darkness.
I don't want to lose him—can't lose him—not when I've only just got him back again.
"Daniel." He shifts in the bed, making room. "Come here."
"You need your rest—"
"I need you to stop having nightmares alone in that chair." His voice is firm but gentle. "Come here."
I hesitate, my fingers trembling slightly as they clutch the edge of the hospital bed. I hoist myself up onto the narrow mattress, trying not to jostle Harald's still form too much as I settle beside him.
As I lie down, his body radiates warmth against mine, a stark contrast to the gaunt figure that torments me in my nightmares.
Harald's hand finds mine in the darkness, his skin smooth and cool against my fevered palm.
Gently but insistently, he guides my hand to rest on his chest, where it can feel the steady thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat pulsing beneath my fingertips.
The rhythm is reassuringly normal—strong and even—and it soothes some of the anxiety still roiling in my gut after that disturbing dream.
Beneath Harald's pajama top, I can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes deeply and evenly.
His other arm comes around me then, pulling me closer into the solid heat of his embrace.
"I'm here," he murmurs softly against my ear, his voice low and soothing in its gentle cadence. "You're safe now."
"I almost lost you," I whisper into the darkness. "If Ella hadn't come... if we'd been even a day later..."
"But you didn't. You came." His arms tighten around me. "You saved me."
"You saved yourself," I correct him, my voice catching slightly as the memory resurfaces with painful clarity.
"I just... I can't stop seeing you in that bed, with all the tubes.
.." My fingers twist nervously in the fabric of his pajama top as the hospital room flashes before my eyes—the sickly pallor of his skin against the sterile white sheets, the rhythmic beeping of machines, the transparent tubes snaking from his arms to hanging bags of fluid.
Even now, the image haunts me with its fragility, how close I came to losing him.
"Then look at me now instead." He tilts my chin up until our eyes meet.
Even in the dim light, I can see how far he's come.
His face has filled out, healthy and handsome again, with those high cheekbones and that subtle cleft in his chin that I love to trace with my thumb.
When he flexes his arm around me, I feel the returned strength in his muscles, solid and reassuring against my body—nothing like the frightening weakness I'd felt when I'd held his hand before.
"I'm right here, kaereste. Very much alive.
" His Danish endearment washes over me like a warm blanket, familiar and soothing in ways I never thought a foreign word could be.
"Promise me," I say, hating how my voice breaks. "Promise me you'll never..."
"I promise." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "No more running away. No more giving up. You and me, we face everything together from now on."
I let out a shaky breath and settle against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
A soft knock at the door makes me jolt awake. Ingrid stands in the doorway, one eyebrow raised at finding me tangled up with Harald in his hospital bed.
"Good morning," she says mildly. "I trust you both slept well?"
I feel my face heat as I scramble to sit up, but Harald's hand on my arm keeps me in place.
"Best sleep in weeks, actually," Harald tells her, and I hear the challenge in his voice. He's daring her to comment on us sharing a hospital bed.
"Interesting." She makes a note in her ever-present notebook. "And the nightmares, Daniel?"
I realize with surprise that for the first time since arriving in Denmark, I slept through the night without a single terror. "None," I admit.
"As I suspected." She settles into the chair I usually occupy. "Physical proximity can be incredibly therapeutic for trauma recovery. For both parties," she adds meaningfully.
Harald's thumb traces circles on my shoulder. "Does this mean—"
"I'll speak with the head nurse about adjusting the overnight policies," Ingrid says. "Now, shall we discuss your physical therapy schedule for today? The weights room has been cleared for your use this morning."
Harald practically vibrates with excitement next to me. "Really? No more tiny hand weights?"
"Really," she confirms. "Though I expect you both to respect the limits we've set." Her stern gaze fixes on me. "That means you're in charge of making sure His Highness doesn't overdo it."
"Yes, ma'am," I say, already knowing I'll have my hands full keeping Harald from pushing too hard.
I shift uncomfortably in the bed as Ingrid leans over and picks up Harald's latest test results, her expression brightening as she flips through the charts.
"Your recovery rate is truly remarkable, Harald" she says. "At this pace, I believe we can discharge you by the end of the week."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. End of the week. My throat tightens.
"That's wonderful news," Harald beams, but I can't seem to match his enthusiasm.
"Of course," Ingrid continues, "there will be a follow-up regimen and regular check-ins, but you can continue your recovery at the palace."
The palace. Royal duties. Press conferences. Photographers. The reality I've been avoiding while safely tucked away in this hospital bubble crashes down around me.
"Daniel?" Harald's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "You've gone pale."
I try to smile but it feels more like a grimace. "Just... processing."
Ingrid gives me a knowing look. "I'll leave you two to discuss. Remember, physical therapy in twenty minutes."
As she closes the door behind her, Harald leans over and wraps me up tightly in his warm arms. His movements are fluid now, nothing like the frail man I first saw in this room.
"What's happening in that head of yours?" he asks, nuzzling his face into my hair.
"Everything's about to change," I whisper. "Once we leave here, it's not just us anymore. It's... everything else. The press, your father, your responsibilities—"
"Hey," Harald interrupts. "Look at me."
I force myself to meet his eyes.
"We almost lost each other," he says. "I'm not going through that again. Whatever comes next, we face it together."
Before I can respond, he leans down and captures my lips in a kiss that steals my breath. It's not the gentle kisses we've shared during his recovery—this is hungry and determined, his fingers threading through my hair as he pulls me closer.
When we finally break apart, he rests his forehead against mine. "Nothing can split us up now," he whispers. "Nothing."
"Nothing," I echo against his lips, my heart drumming a frantic rhythm in my chest.
I lean in for more, our kisses quickly shifting from tender to desperate.
His fingers tangle in my hair as mine slip beneath his hospital gown to find the warm skin underneath.
It's been weeks since we've touched like this, not since we were in New York, but my body remembers exactly how we fit together, like we were designed as two halves of the same whole.
The familiar electricity sparks between us, making my skin tingle wherever we connect.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I trace the planes of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath my fingertips.
Even with the lingering scent of antiseptic in the air, he still smells like himself - that intoxicating mix of cologne and something uniquely him that makes my head spin.
Every brush of his lips against mine feels like coming home after being lost for far too long.
Harald pulls me closer, his strength returning in ways that make my breath catch. His mouth trails down my neck, finding that spot just below my ear that makes me shiver.
"Missed this," he murmurs against my skin. "Missed you."
"We shouldn't," I gasp halfheartedly, even as my hands betray my words, exploring the planes of his chest. "You're still recovering."
He laughs against my collarbone, the vibration sending sparks through my body. "Pretty sure this counts as physical therapy."
His palm slides to the small of my back, pressing me against him. The thin pyjama bottoms Harald’s wearing and my sweatpants do little to hide how affected we both are. I capture his mouth again, swallowing his soft moan.
"Daniel," he whispers my name like a prayer.
Our bodies remember this dance perfectly—the way I arch when he traces my spine, how he shivers when I run my thumb along his jawline. Every touch carries the weight of what we almost lost, making each sensation more intense, more vital.
My hand slips lower, tracing the waistband of his shorts, and Harald's breath hitches. His pupils are blown wide, the blue of his eyes nearly swallowed by black.
"You're sure you're strong enough for this?" I ask, our foreheads pressed together.
His answer is a crooked smile that steals my breath. "For you? Always."