CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Erik
Glen peels off the top of a hard-boiled egg, and I smile at the way he bites his lower lip in concentration.
Olav interrupts our breakfast. “I have found some new cultural books for you to study, Mr. Garland.”
“Actually,” I tell Olav, “Glen will be busy today.”
“Busy?” Olav frowns.
“Yes. Glen, Anders, Max and I will go to the Christmas Market.”
Olav’s eyes round.
“Are you certain?” Olav asks finally.
“Yes, Olav.”
“But you never go to the Christmas market. You have the vendors send things to the castle, then you write letters back on royal stationery thanking them.”
“I feel it would be more efficient to actually go to the Christmas market stalls, rather than sending lengthy letters.”
Olav’s eyes narrow. “Did you lose your royal stamp again?”
“No!” My cheeks warm.
“Because it’s better to tell me now.”
“I still have it!”
“Good.”
I avoid looking at Glen or Anders. “I’ve only misplaced it once before.”
“You delayed getting official business done.”
I hesitate. “Please clear my schedule. I want to devote my time to my guests. I can’t spend my days writing letters in my office.”
I wait for Olav to scold me, but he brightens.
“Actually, I have something new. This will be the perfect time to test it!”
“You’re not upset at me?”
Olav waves his hand nonchalantly. “I am a very amiable person.”
“Well—”
“I am!” Olav insists. “It’s something called an AI agent. It will send e-mails for you. I took the precaution of setting it up for you already.”
“You think of everything, Olav.”
Olav shrugs. “You’re fortunate to have me.”
“Most assuredly,” I say, and his cheeks brighten even more. He looks like one of the painted nutcrackers in the hallway that I received as a gift from a Mediterranean king.
I wait in the hallway for Glen, Max and Anders to appear.
“There will be cameras,” Olav warns me.
“I am aware.”
Olav sighs.
Glen, Anders, Max and I leave the castle gates and enter the Christmas market.
We’re recognized at once.
The people nudge each other and smile at us.
I’m relieved when Glen falls into step beside me. Anders and Max stroll ahead of us.
Carolers’ songs thrum through the crisp air.
Some vendors sell spiced gingerbread cookies, Christmas sausages, and candied apples in wooden stalls. Other vendors sell candles and ceramic Christmas trolls and knitted sweaters.
Every stall looks spectacular. The vendors are delighted to see me, and I feel guilty that this is the first time I’ve visited them in person.
I explain some of the Christmas items to Max.
People wave at us, and we wave back.
Is this what I’ve been missing?
GLEN
Anders tenses, and his Adam’s apple moves rapidly. I follow his gaze to the same blond girl I noticed him look at earlier today.
“Who’s that girl?” I ask Anders while Max and King Erik chat.
“Which one?”
I smile. Anders’ voice is definitely higher pitched than normal. “She has long, straight blonde hair.”
“That’s Tina,” Anders says. “She’s in my class.”
“She’s pretty.”
“Yes. But she’s also smart! She gets the best scores in chemistry.” Anders’ cheeks turn a ruddy color, and I try not to smile. Sometimes he looks exactly like his father.
“Why don’t you say hi to her? Maybe you can ask her to the Christmas Ball.”
“I can’t do that! She might say no.”
“Maybe. But then you’ll know, right?”
“I’ll have to see her every day.”
“I would think being a prince is some sort of advantage.”
“People are used to it. They all know me.”
“It can be embarrassing to get rejected,” I say.
Anders’ shoulders slump. “It’s not only that.”
“You can tell me anything. I’ll be gone in a few days.”
“True,” Anders says, and my heart tightens.
“My father misses my mother,” Anders says, which doesn’t make the strange feeling in my heart ease. I nod though. “Maybe I should wait to date until I’m older.”
“Your dad wants you to be happy.”
“Then why is he always criticizing me?”
I try not to grimace. “Sometimes people who know you well aren’t used to seeing new things. He loves you though. And you should speak with Tina.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Guess you can’t ask her to pass the beaker at the Christmas market.”
Anders snorts.
“Maybe you can say hello and ask her what is her favorite Christmas market stall.”
“I guess I can do that.”
“You can buy her something from her favorite Christmas market stall.”
“Uh—”
I take out some Solbergian kroners and give them to Anders. “You probably don’t carry money around.”
“She probably has money.”
“Reckon you’re right. You want to make her feel special. And if it goes well...”
“I know. I can ask her to the Christmas ball. Thank you.” Anders hurries ahead.
“Where’s that boy going?” Erik grumbles. He turns to me. “He’s being rude. I’ll go get him.”
“Let him be. He’s talking to someone important.”
Erik’s jaw drops, and he looks at me with such incredulity that some of the stiffness that entered my body since I reminded Anders that I was leaving drifts away. He raises his jaw, and I wonder how he always looks so regal. “You’re important. Max is important.”
I gesture toward Anders. He’s speaking with Tina. It’s awkward, but they’re definitely speaking.
“Look.”
Erik frowns, and for a wild moment I think that maybe he doesn’t see after all, or worse, that he’ll take the opportunity to tell Anders to speak with Max or me, as if he doesn’t already spend lots of time with us at the castle.
A proud father smile moves over his face, and everything is okay.
“Oh,” Erik says. “He’s getting older.”
“Sure is.” I chuckle.
Max joins Anders and Tina, and I think about calling Max back, but Anders brightens. Reckon Max is giving Anders something to talk about. Tina is laughing at something Anders says and smoothing her hair, which is definitely a good sign.
“You bring everyone joy.” King Erik looks at me with intensity, and my heartbeat quickens. It’s not used to pale blue-green eyes and aristocratic features looking at me like that.
And I shouldn’t, shouldn’t be here.
But Dean isn’t here. He hasn’t been here in a while.
I stare at the handsome man before me, who knows what I’ve been through. He puts his hand on my waist, and I wonder if he’s ever put his hand on another man’s waist.
I don’t think so.
His eyes dart to my lips, and I lick my lower lip automatically.
Is he going to kiss me? I stare, transfixed.
“Kiss!” Someone shouts, and for a wild moment I think it’s my own mind.
Other people are also shouting the words. Other people holding up professional-looking cameras.
“Oh, no.” Erik’s jaw tenses, then he squares his shoulders as if nothing happened.
And technically, nothing did.
Photographers, clothed in black, dart and jump in front of us, contorting themselves into odd angles to get the best shots. They wriggle on the ground, unconcerned by the snow, and snap photos.
“Exactly how many people in Solberg become photographers?” I ask Erik.
“Most of them are international,” Erik says. “I sell magazines all over Europe and North America. Looks like you’re going to help too.”
“Kiss!” the photographers scream again.
Erik’s cheeks turn a pink shade, and he quivers.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, turning to the cameras.
I frown. We’re supposed to be engaged. Why wouldn’t we kiss?
I pull him toward me, then wrap my arms around him, as if maybe I can stop him from shaking.
I want to kiss him, I realize. I thought last night that he was going to kiss me.
And maybe if his bodyguard hadn’t appeared, he would have.
“We could kiss,” I whisper. “If you want.”
He inhales sharply and lifts his head. “I-I don’t want to force you.”
I gaze at his face. The cold has turned his cheeks a pretty pink shade, and I long to capture his lips with my own. “You wouldn’t be forcing me.”
His eyes widen, and my organs topple. I’ve said too much. I’m breaking our plan. He’s going to have to tell me that cowboys and royals don’t mix and...
“Very well,” he says.
“Very well?” My heartbeat quickens.
He nods, then I draw him toward me.