Page 11 of Defying the Crown
I let the music take over again, my body finding the rhythm. But even as I lose myself in the beat, I can't help but feel a pang of emptiness as I watch Jayda and Caleb dance, wrapped up in their own little world. The love they have for each other is so tangible I can almost reach out and touch it.
I close my eyes, trying to push away the ache inside me. Maybe one day I'll have that again. But for now, I'll dance until I can't feel anything at all.
Chapter 4
Harald
I slouch in my chair, watching Carl Hansen's latest attempt at wrangling the coalition partners into a budget agreement dissolve into chaos. The Prime Minister's round glasses fogged up as he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief for the fifth time in ten minutes.
"Perhaps if we redirected funds from the infrastructure portfolio..." Carl's voice trailed off as his Finance Minister Larsen cut him off with a sharp wave.
"We've been over this already. The bridges need repair now, not in five years and it cannot be put off any further."
I fought the urge to massage my temples. Father should have been here, guiding them, but he'd delegated this to me as "practice." More like punishment for the fundraiser disaster.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I snuck a glance while the Energy Minister Petersen launched into another tirade about wind farm subsidies. Daniel had responded to my comment.
"At least your day can't be worse than mine - unless you're stuck in a meeting with Satan's middle manager too? My boss just told my team that all of our reports need to be color-coded by 'emotional resonance.' Whatever that means...maybe I need to get my chakras aligned to understand it?"
A laugh escaped before I could stop it. Heads swiveled toward me, Carl's nervous energy temporarily redirected as he blinked rapidly in my direction.
"Your Highness? Did you have something to add?"
Heat crept up my neck. "No, my apologies. Please continue."
As they resumed arguing, I typed quickly:"This might be too forward, but would you want to continue this conversation over text instead? I'm enjoying our banter and I feel that this might be better done in private. No worries if not, I know swapping numbers with internet strangers isn't exactly recommended."
My heart pounded as I hit send. This felt different, more real somehow. I'd never reached out directly to someone from the forum before. What if he said no? What if he said yes? What if he somehow figured out who I really was?
The reply came a minute later, which felt like an eternity:"Eh, you seem relatively sane. For now. Here's my number - don't make me regret this!"
I stare at Daniel's contact information on my phone screen, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Our brief exchanges had been the highlight of an otherwise dismal week. His witty comebacks and self-deprecating humor were a breath of fresh air in the stuffy world of royal protocol and political maneuvering.
As the budget meeting droned on around me, my mind wandered to our previous interactions. The way he'd commiserated about his boss's ridiculous demands, the clever quips about the absurdities of adult life. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt a genuine connection with someone who knew nothing about my title or family name.
It was refreshing, exhilarating even, to be seen as just another person navigating the ups and downs of existence. With Daniel, I wasn't the Crown Prince or the face of a nation - I was simply a fellow human being trying to make sense of it all.
My thumb hovered over his contact, a sudden impulse to reach out directly nearly overwhelming me. What would I even say? "Hey, it's me, the guy from the forum who also happens to be next in line for the Danish throne"?
I shook my head, a wry chuckle escaping under my breath. No, I couldn't risk revealing my true identity, not yet at least. But maybe, just maybe, there was potential for something more with Daniel. A friendship, a confidant, someone who understood the weight of expectation and the struggle to find one's place in the world.
I settle for a simple message instead, deciding my real first name isn't a risk to share:"Let the regret begin!??I'm Harald by the way."
A response comes in quickly and I have to stifle another laugh at his message:"I'm Daniel. So...come here often?"
As the Energy Minister's voice rose in another impassioned plea, I slipped my phone back into my pocket, the ghost of a smile still playing on my lips. For now, I would savor the connection we'd forged, the brief moments of levity in an otherwise heavy existence. And perhaps, with time and trust, it could grow into something even more meaningful.
Erik
I shifted in my seat, unable to keep my eyes off Harald during the budget meeting. The afternoon sun caught his profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the way his brow furrowed in concentration. Even in moments of tedium, he carried himself with an innate grace that came from years of royal training.
The Prime Minister droned on about fiscal responsibilities while I pretended to take notes. My pen traced meaningless patterns across the page as my thoughts wandered to forbidden territory. The slight curl of Harald's hair at his neck. The way his hands moved when he spoke. The rare, genuine smile that transformed his entire face.
My chest ached with the familiar weight of these feelings I'd carried for years, ever since we were just friends and teenagers. They were as much a part of me now as breathing, and just as automatic. I'd learned to live with them, to pack them away in a corner of my heart where they couldn't interfere with my duties.
A sudden snort of laughter broke through the monotony of the meeting. Harald's phone lay face-down on the table, but I caught the ghost of a smile playing across his lips. Something had caught him off guard – something that brought a spark of joy to his eyes I hadn't seen in months.
The coalition partners exchanged irritated glances at the interruption, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from Harald's face. Color rose in his cheeks as he composed himself and apologized, yet that light remained. Whatever message he'd received had pierced through his carefully maintained facade.
