Page 25 of Defying the Crown
"The pilot says ten more minutes, sir." Erik's voice softened. "Perhaps you'd like to review the itinerary for your stay?"
"I've memorized it." My voice came out more clipped than intended, the tension in my shoulders betraying my outward composure. Three days in New York. Three days where I'd pretend to be inspecting Danish investments while actually giving most of my security detail the slip to meet a man I'd never seen in person. The absurdity of my plan struck me suddenly—heir to the throne of Denmark, sneaking around Manhattan like a rebellious teenager rather than a future monarch. Yet something about Daniel pulled me toward him with a gravity I couldn't resist, couldn't explain to anyone, least of all my father or Erik. Those text conversations had become my oxygen, the only moments when the weight of the crown seemed to lift from my head, if only temporarily.
The flight attendant approached with a hesitant smile. "Would Your Highness care for a drink before takeoff?"
"No, thank you." I checked my phone again—no new messages from Daniel. Had he changed his mind? Was he as nervous as I felt?
The engines finally roared to life, and I clutched the armrests. Flying never bothered me, but this journey felt different. I wasn't traveling as Denmark's Crown Prince but as a man pursuing something real. Something honest.
"You're white as a sheet," Erik murmured, sliding into the seat across from me. "Having second thoughts?"
"Second, third, fortieth thoughts." I laughed nervously, the sound catching in my throat like a trapped butterfly. My fingers drummed against the plush armrest in an erratic rhythm that matched my pulse. "What if he's disappointed? What if he expected someone different, someone... better?" The anxiety that had been my lifelong companion twisted in my chest. I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a whisper that barely carried over the rumble of the engines. "What if he realizes who I am and everything changes? One Google search andthe fairytale crumbles. The Crown Prince masquerading as just Harald from Denmark." The very thought sent a cold shiver down my spine—that moment of recognition in Daniel's eyes, wonder transforming into calculation, or worse, betrayal.
"Then he wasn't the right person." Erik's gaze held mine. "But from what little you've shared, he seems to care about the man, not the title."
I nodded, my throat tight. "I've never done this before. Met someone as... just me."
"Perhaps that's why it matters so much."
The plane began taxiing, and I closed my eyes, picturing Daniel's face from his photos—that infectious smile with a hint of mischief, those expressive dark eyes that seemed to see right through pretense. In less than eight hours, I'd see that face in person, not confined to the small rectangle of my phone screen. I'd hear his voice without the static of a phone call, clear and vibrant in the same air I breathed. My stomach fluttered with a mixture of anticipation and terror. This wasn't a diplomatic meeting with prepared statements and practiced smiles. This was me—just Harald—stepping into something real and unpredictable for perhaps the first time in my life.
I was terrified. I was exhilarated. I was finally moving toward something I wanted, not something expected of me. For once in my life, the crushing weight of duty and royal obligation wasn't dictating my actions - this was purely my heart leading the way, however reckless it might be. My pulse quickened at the thought, sending sparks of electricity through my veins that made me feel more alive than I had in years. Even the anxiety churning in my stomach felt different - not the usual dread of public appearances and diplomatic functions, but rather the sweet, dizzying nervousness of pursuing something genuinely meaningful to me, consequences be damned.
"You look like you need this." Erik handed me a small white pill. "Dr. Nielsen authorized it for your flight anxiety."
I studied the tablet resting in my palm. "What flight anxiety? I never take these."
"Precisely why you should now." Erik's expression softened with concern. "You've barely slept in days, Your Highness. You'll want to be rested when you meet him."
He was right. The thought of facing Daniel with dark circles under bloodshot eyes wasn't appealing. I'd been too wired, spending nights staring at my phone screen, rereading our conversations, analyzing every word.
"Fine." I tossed back the pill with a swig of water. "Wake me before landing. I need time to..." To what? Compose myself? Rehearse what to say? Nothing would adequately prepare me for actually seeing Daniel in person.
Erik dimmed the cabin lights. "Rest well, sir."
I reclined my seat, feeling the gentle vibration of the jet beneath me. The pill worked quickly, a gentle warmth spreading through my limbs, my eyelids growing heavy. Thoughts of Daniel drifted through my mind like clouds across the Danish sky—his laugh during our phone call, the way he'd described his tiny apartment with such animation I could almost see it, the vulnerability in his voice when he spoke about his past.
Would he see right through me? My carefully constructed facade of normalcy that couldn't possibly hold up to in-person scrutiny? Or would he see me—just Harald—the person I glimpsed in rare moments when crown and country weren't weighing me down?
The thought both terrified and thrilled me as consciousness began slipping away. In my drowsy state, I imagined Daniel's smile welcoming me, not the practiced diplomatic smile I'd perfected for cameras and public appearances, but something genuine that reached his eyes. Something real.
Something worth crossing an ocean for.
My last coherent thought before sleep claimed me was wondering if Daniel was as nervous as I was, if he too was counting hours and minutes, simultaneously afraid and eager for the moment we'd finally meet.
Erik
I leaned back in the plush leather seat of the jet, finally allowing my shoulders to slump. The morning had been a frenzy of discreet arrangements, secretive phone calls, and carefully worded emails. Organizing a royal flight without attracting the palace gossips' attention was like performing surgery with boxing gloves on.
"Everything's arranged, Your Highness," I'd told Harald earlier, handing him the itinerary. "The planewill be ready in three hours."
That's when he'd gazed at me with those eyes—the ones that had made my pulse falter since our teenage years. Eyes that never regarded me with the longing I privately hoped they might.
"Erik, I need to tell you something." His voice carried an unusual vulnerability. "I'm not just going to New York for diplomatic reasons."
I maintained my practiced neutral expression, though my stomach tightened. "Sir?"
"I've met someone. Online." His face transformed as he spoke, years of royal restraint melting away into an expression of almost boyish vulnerability that I hadn't seen since we were teenagers sneaking chocolate from the palace kitchens. "His name is Daniel. We've been talking for weeks and... I need to see him in person." The way Harald's voice softened on this stranger's name made my chest constrict with an emotion I refused to name, even as I noticed the slight tremor in his usually steady hands, the way his shoulders seemed both tense and lighter somehow, as if unburdened by finally speaking these words aloud.
