Page 26 of Defying the Crown
"I see," I replied, my voice impressively steady despite the cold knife twisting between my ribs.
Harald sank into the chair opposite mine, relief washing over his features at having shared his secret. His shoulders relaxed as if unburdened of an invisible weight, though his fingers still tapped nervously against his knee. "He doesn't know who I really am. To him, I'm just Harald," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words too loudly might shatter this fragile fantasy he'd constructed. The vulnerability in his eyes reminded me of when we were young, before the crown had become so heavy on his brow, before the expectations of an entire nation and an unreasonable father had carved permanent worry lines into his forehead.
"Just Harald," I echoed, swallowing hard. How I'd longed to know 'just Harald' too, beyond the barriers of crown and duty.
"I've never felt this way before," he continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "When I talk to him, I'm not the Crown Prince. I'm just... me."
I nodded, forcing a supportive smile that didn't reach my eyes. "That must be freeing," I managed, even as the words scraped my throat raw. Years of diplomatic training came to my rescue, allowing me to maintain this façade of calm interest while inside, my heart splintered into countless sharp-edged fragments. How many nights had I stayed late in his office, how many private moments had we shared, all while I harbored these useless, inappropriate feelings? And now, to sit here and listen to him speak of another with such unguarded tenderness—it was exquisite torture.
"It is," he whispered, almost to himself. "For once, someone sees me clearly."
The irony burned. I'd seen him clearly for years—his doubts, his strengths, his gentle heart beneath the royal facade. I'd stood beside him through every crisis, every triumph. Yet he flew across an ocean for a connection formed through text messages.
Now, alone as Harald slept beside me oblivious to my inner turmoil, I allowed myself a moment of weakness. My hands trembled slightly as I organized the security protocols for his visit. I would ensure his safety, as always. I would facilitate this meeting with Daniel, whoever he was.
Because that was my role. Not the lover, but the loyal secretary. The friend who would never cross that line, no matter how much I ached to.
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.
"Bean There, Done That at 3. Can't wait to meet you :)"
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."
