Page 67 of Defying the Crown
The cool water soothes my throat, and I find my voice again, though it's still weak. "I thought I'd lost you forever. That I deserved to lose you."
"No," Daniel says firmly, his hand finding mine. "No more losing each other. I've spent the last week watching you waste away, praying you'd wake up. I can't—" his voice breaks again. "I can't lose you like that again. Ever."
I squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine. After the cold darkness of the past week, his touch feels like sunlight. "I'm here," I whisper. "I'm here now."
Daniel
My footsteps echo through the private hospital wing as I support Harald's weight, one careful step at a time. Two weeks into recovery, and these daily walks have become our ritual—a dance of patience and determination.
"I've got you," I murmur, my arm steady around his waist. Despite Harald's protests that he can manage on his own, I can't help but notice how his hospital gown hangs loose on his still-too-thin frame.
Harald's grip tightens on my shoulder as we reach the end of the corridor. "I want to try the stairs today."
"The stairs?" My heart skips. "Are you sure that's—"
"Please." His voice carries that quiet determination I've come to know so well. "Just three steps. Ingrid said I need to push myself a little each day."
I hesitate, studying his face for any signs of fatigue. The dark circles under his eyes have begun to fade, but I can't shake the memory of him lying in that bed with tubes and ventilators down his throat. Every night, that image haunts my dreams.
"Three steps," I agree finally. "But if I see you wobble even once, we're turning back."
Harald's answering smile is worth all the worry. "Yes, nurse Ramirez."
"Don't get cheeky with me, Your Highness," I tease, though my grip remains protective as we approach the stairs. "I still outrank you in this hospital."
As we take the first step together, I feel his muscles trembling with effort. I keep my face carefully neutral, knowing Harald hates showing weakness, but my heart aches.Each step forward is a small victory against what we almost lost.
Harald's breathing grows laboured as we tackle the second step. His hand grips the railing so tightly his knuckles turn white, but there's fierce pride in his eyes that makes me feel warm inside.
"One more," I encourage. "You're doing amazing."
We make it to the third step when his knee buckles slightly. I catch him instantly, my arm wrapping more firmly around his waist. For a moment, we stand there, his forehead resting against my shoulder as he catches his breath.
"I hate being this weak," he whispers against my neck.
"Hey." I press my lips to his temple, tasting the salt of his sweat. "You're the strongest person I know. Three weeks ago, you were—" My voice catches. I can't finish the sentence.
Harald lifts his head, those blue eyes searching my face. "I'm still here, kæreste. I'm not going anywhere."
A nurse passes by, clipboard in hand, pretending not to notice the Crown Prince of Denmark being held up by his boyfriend in the stairwell. I've gotten used to the careful averting of eyes, the deliberate privacy the staff tries to maintain even in these intimate moments.
"Ready to head back?" I ask, noting the slight tremor in his legs.
"Five more minutes," he bargains, and I recognize the stubborn set of his jaw. "I want to try one more step."
"Harald—"
"Please, Daniel." His fingers brush my cheek. "I need to do this. For both of us."
I swallow hard, remembering last night's nightmare—Harald's hand going limp in mine, monitors screaming into the darkness. But this isn't that Harald. This Harald is warm and alive under my hands, fighting his way back with every step.
"One more," I concede. "Then it's back to bed before Ingrid has my head for overworking you."
Harald's victorious grin at reaching the fourth step makes my heart flutter, even as I notice the way his chest heaves with exertion. I keep one hand pressed firmly against his lower back as we carefully turn to head down.
"Good work today," Ingrid's voice carries from the bottom of the stairs. She stands there in her practical cardigan, notebook tucked under her arm, watching us with those keen eyes that seem to see everything.
"He's pushing himself too hard," I tell her, not caring that Harald rolls his eyes.
