The Wild Heir

  I won’t be. I won’t even be able to concentrate on what I’m supposed to be learning when all I can think about is her.

  She’s become my focus in this crazy world.

  And I don’t mind that one bit.

  Sixteen

  Ella

  “Ella, darling, you are looking radiant,” the King says to me as he enters the sitting room where I’ve sequestered myself with a cup of tea.

  I immediately attempt to get to my feet but he puts his hands out. “No, sit. Don’t get up. I know you weren’t expecting to see me.”

  The truth is I wasn’t. I’ve been at the royal palace all morning for the sake of trying on wedding gowns. The Queen told me that it would be impossible to go into stores to get it done, so last night I scrolled through my phone and picked off all the dresses I liked.

  Then the Queen had to approve them all, because apparently this isn’t really my wedding but hers.

  In some ways it’s not a real marriage either, but I digress.

  Ottar drove me out to Oslo early, before Magnus was even awake, and I’ve been trying on dress after dress after dress here, with the Queen insisting she inspect each one, no matter how horrible it looked on me.

  But none of them have been right, so now I’m allowed to take a little break while she sends out for more dresses and all the while I was told that the King was upstairs sleeping and no one was to disturb him (that was more for the staff than me. I know my place).

  But now, the King is awake and on his feet, though he seems a little bit unsteady and has to lean against the back of the couch. I haven’t seen him in a few days and I’m relieved that he hasn’t gotten any worse.

  That said, he’s deteriorated a little bit since the first time I met him at dinner almost a month ago. The Queen hasn’t mentioned it and neither has Magnus for that matter, but it makes me uneasy to see him getting thinner and paler with time.

  “How did your interview go yesterday?” he says, slowly walking around the couch and taking a seat in the deep armchair across from me.

  “I think it went great,” I tell him.

  I hope it did. I can barely remember the whole thing. After what happened between Magnus and I in his bedroom, it was like my brain was permanently scrambled and everything else after that was a blur. In fact, it’s still a blur.

  When the interview was over, Magnus was sequestered by Ottar for something or other and I was taken back to the estate. I don’t think Magnus got home until quite late and I was feeling too vulnerable after what happened to go to his room and check on him.

  I’m still surprised it happened. Not that I hadn’t thought about it before, but even so, I was shocked that my body craved him that much. All the shyness and inexperience I thought I had that would hold me back from enjoying it had vanished. It was like some other Ella came out to play and she knew exactly what she wanted.

  His cock more than anything. His head between my legs…

  If only we hadn’t been interrupted.

  “Are you excited for the gala tonight?” the King asks and I blush, ashamed that I’ve been thinking about his son like that when I’m sitting here in front of him. Not to mention the fact that he’s the freaking King of Norway and soon to be my father-in-law.

  Another one of those moments where I realize just how much my life is about to change.

  “Yes, the gala,” I say with a stiff smile, and of course this is either news to me or it’s totally slipped my mind because what the hell, what gala?

  He raises his bushy brow a touch and I think he’s on to me.

  “It’s been a busy week, I know that,” he says gently. “Tonight’s gala will be easy, I promise. It’s your first appearance together at an event and it’s only for the social elite.” He chuckles. “Okay, I think I made them seem pompous, but I promise you that you’ll have a good time. Everyone is just so excited to meet you.”

  I’m starting to remember something about a gala at some museum. Honestly, with the on-camera interviews and the magazine interviews and the photos and the meetings and the wedding stuff, I feel like I’m being spread too thin and barely hanging on. This gala is just another thing to add.

  “So,” he clears his throat and adjusts himself in his seat, “if you don’t mind me asking…how are you and Magnus?”

  “We’re good,” I tell him.

  “You know, dear, that we’re one of the few people who know the truth. You don’t need to pretend with us. We know everything and we certainly know Magnus.” He pauses. “He is not an easy man to live with.”

  “Actually, he’s been fine,” I tell him truthfully. “Better than fine. No, it’s been good. Really. I think we get each other in ways that other people don’t.”

  His eyes seem to brighten. “Really? That’s great news.”

  I give him a reassuring smile. “Magnus is different. And he can be difficult. But I think I like that about him. There’s a reason I said yes to all of this. I think if we keep leaning on each other, we’re going to be okay.”

  “Good, great,” he says, grinning. I guess he was expecting the worst. “That makes me incredibly happy to hear, especially from a girl such as yourself. I can see you keep him on his toes.” He averts his eyes for a moment. “You know, I know this was Magnus’s problem to get out of and it had nothing to do with you, so I just want you to know how much we appreciate you. You’ve been so poised and thoughtful and warm with us all despite everything you’ve had to give up. The fact that you’re willingly wanting to become a part of this crazy family, well, it means the world to us. To me. To Magnus.”

  Oh. Damn. I didn’t expect that level of sincerity to come out of him and suddenly I feel hot tears picking at the back of my eyes. It’s not exactly something to cry over, but I have to say it feels so bloody good to be validated like this.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “Honestly. It’s my pleasure.”

  The funny thing is, the conversation I’ve just had with Magnus’s father is more than the conversation I had with my father the other day when I told him that the wedding was officially happening. He sounded happy, of course, but there was none of the warmth and elation that I’m getting from the King.

  No, my own father still sounded so distant and far away, like the joy and thrill of me being married to the Norwegian royal family had worn off much earlier. It made me feel relieved that, in the end, I was no longer marrying Magnus to make him happy. Yes, it was still a part of it, but that wasn’t all of it. It’s more for me than anything else at this point.

  Soon after the King had his talk with me, the Queen appeared with the next batch of dresses and gently shooed him away. I tried on a million of them—I don’t know why royal families are so partial to sleeves—and it wasn’t until I put on the last dress that I really, truly fell in love.

  It’s white, obviously, and has sleeves, except the sleeves are wide and transparent with flowy lace overlaid with small gold beading that comes to my elbow. The rest of the dress is in Grecian style, more form-fitting and drapey with hints of the same gold overlay. It’s sexy, it’s romantic, it’s demure.

  It’s perfectly me.

  “You look beautiful, dear,” the Queen says to me as I’m admiring the dress in the mirror. She comes forward and touches my elbow. “Though sleeves this short will be breaking the rules.”

  “What rules?”

  She waves me off. “You don’t want to know. I swear, some of the protocol we’re supposed to follow seems like it comes from the middle ages. And don’t look at me. Remember I married into this family. Sometimes I’m the only one with a damn brain.”

  She reaches over and touches my hair, wincing. That’s definitely not how Magnus touched my hair yesterday.

  “Are you going to wear it down or up?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I tell her.

  “Well, you better hurry up and decide. We have people to book and the wedding is two months away.”

  Ah, yes. Another thing that sh
e picked was the wedding date. December 23rd. An almost Christmas wedding.

  Which brings me to a question I’ve long since wanted to ask her.

  “Your Majesty, Else, if I may ask and I promise I mean no disrespect by it…”

  By the flare in her eyes I can tell she’s ready for a bunch of disrespect.

  “Why the rush for the wedding? Why not take our time and plan a year out? A winter wedding in Norway doesn’t seem all that ideal and if we did it in the summer…”

  “Ella,” she says rather sharply. “This is the way it is. The sooner the better. Trust me. Especially with you two.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, dear, I know my boy far better than you do at this point. I am sure that will change as your marriage goes on but for now you just have to take my word. He…has issues. Problems. And one of his problems is that he can’t seem to stay focused on much for long and that includes women. We’ve got him to agree to this wedding right now and he’s in it and he’s focused, but what happens in a year from now when his attention strays?”

  I can’t explain how much this hurts to hear but it does. Maybe because I know it’s the truth and it’s a truth I’ve tried to ignore.

  “Surely you’ve seen him take interest in one thing and drop it the next?”

  I think back to the billiards table he wanted, then the dog—which we still haven’t gotten—then his brief obsession with gin and wanting to open a distillery.

  “And he does this with women too. I just don’t want you both to get engaged and have all this planning go into it and then have him change his mind. He’s fickle and he doesn’t always make the right decisions, and I would hate for you to be a casualty of that.”

  “But what if he changes his mind after we’re married?” I say softly, barely finding my voice. Suddenly the dress feels two sizes too small.

  “Then he’s stuck with you,” she says. She puts her hand on my arm. “I mean that in the best way possible. I think marriage will teach him to appreciate the things he has once he learns there is no easy way out.”

  Except for that clause in the contract I signed, I think.

  She claps her hands together. “Okay, enough of that sort of talk, right? Let’s get you out of that dress and into a new one.”

  “A new one?” I ask absently.

  “Yes. For the gala tonight at the museum. You’re going to want to shine, my dear, and believe me, I have a lot of options. And guess what, none of them have sleeves. How scandalous!”

  I’m nervous.

  I can’t decide if I’m nervous because it’s this damn gala, if I’ve been sitting alone in this parlor for too long, or because I haven’t seen Magnus since the interview and so much has happened since then.

  It’s probably all of those things.

  I keep looking at the old, ornately-carved grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the giant room, counting down the minutes. I was served a small glass of champagne by the Queen’s butler a little while ago but other than that I’ve been sitting in my fancy red silk gown in silence.

  “Ella.”

  Magnus’s rough voice comes from behind me and I turn around in my seat to see him in the doorway. I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to see him, and it makes my stomach do trampoline flips.

  I get to my feet as he strides right over to me.

  I thought maybe there would be some awkwardness since this is the first time we’ve seen each other since the interview. That maybe he regrets what we did or maybe he fears that I would.

  But it’s nothing like that.

  He grabs me by the waist and pulls me to him, longing and fire dancing in his eyes as they meet mine, and then he kisses me.

  I’m immediately swept away, out of this room, into a little universe that consists of just the two of us. I kiss him back, eagerly, hungrily, because I want him to know how I feel, I want him to know that I’ve missed him, that I need him by my side through all of this.

  “I am so sorry,” he says, pulling his lips away, his hands cupping my face. “I should have been here. You left so early this morning, I didn’t even get a chance to say hello.”

  “It’s fine,” I tell him, my fingers curling over his wrists.

  “If it’s fine, then you’re a fucking trooper,” he says, leaning in again to kiss me. And then kiss me again. And again.

  I know I should push him away, that we’re in his parents’ royal palace, that this isn’t proper, but I can’t. His mouth against mine is like shock paddles to my heart. I need more and more and more. My lips hard against his, our tongues dancing through silk.

  To think I’ll be kissing this man for the rest of my life.

  I’ve thought that thought many times already, but this is the first time it doesn’t scare me.

  Finally, he pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, gasping for air. “This is why I should have been here. Ella, I need you like I’ve never needed anyone. Why didn’t you come to see me last night?”

  “Why didn’t you come to my room?” I ask him. “You’re the one who got in late.”

  He presses his fingers into my cheek, his eyes searching my face. “I wanted to. I stood outside your door after I got back, like a fucking creeper. I just, I didn’t know how you felt after what happened. I didn’t want to push you in any way, but god how I wanted to push you.”

  I smile, my hand going to his hair and running my fingers through it. This man has the best damn hair in the world. “So, then next time, you know. Push me.”

  He grins right back. “If you’re still considering having your own room, you know I’ll do my best to change your mind.”

  “Magnus,” his mother barks.

  Immediately our hands drop away from each other and we turn toward her. She’s standing with her hands on the hips of her long glittery dress, Tor her butler behind her, and if I’m not mistaken, beyond them I see the four blonde heads of his sisters hovering in the background.

  The funny thing is, I feel like we were doing something we shouldn’t have, as if this engagement and marriage was supposed to stay a sham and never evolve into anything more.

  Or perhaps I feel that way because of what the Queen had said to me during my dress fitting.

  He’s fickle and he doesn’t always make the right decisions and I would hate for you to be a casualty of that.

  I push that thought out of my head. It won’t do me any good.

  The Queen comes forward and introduces me to Magnus’s sisters, Cristina, Britt, Irene, and Mari, whom I already know.

  They seem really nice, really pretty, really blonde, and really happy that I’m here, which is nice. At least with this family there’s none of that opposition that you always hear about with weddings like this.

  And I’m also relieved that all of us are going to the gala together—it takes a lot of the pressure off the two of us.

  Magnus doesn’t let go of my hand for the entire limo ride to the museum and he’s always pulling me close to him. I know I like him for a lot more than his looks and his body but the fact that he’s ripped as shit—and I now know what all that feels like under my fingers—and built like a mountainside, makes me feel wonderfully protected. Secure. Safe.

  And that feeling is needed because the moment we step out of the limo and into the lens of the photographers lining the red carpet into the museum, I feel anything but safe.

  This. Is. Insane.

  All I see are the flashbulbs of cameras and a range of different accents shouting my name.

  “Ella!”

  “Princess Ella!”

  “Your Serene Highness!”

  I have never been subjected to anything like this before, like I’m a bonafide celebrity when all along I’m just me.

  But I keep holding on to Magnus’s hand.

  I do the wave that the Queen taught me during my fitting.

  I do the smile that Mari taught me in the limo (press your tongue to the roof of your mouth).

  And
I never look directly into the cameras.

  I taught myself that one after the first time I posed because I think I was legally blinded by that flash. In fact, the only reason I’m making it up this red carpet is because Magnus is confidently leading the way.

  My god, he looks fantastic. I don’t care what he says about hating the paparazzi. In practice it looks like he loves them and they certainly love him.

  And how can they not? He doesn’t just do the smile and the wave. He somehow gives a piece of himself with every single camera flash. His smile makes everyone automatically smile back, the way he plays to people with his winks and nods. He’s flirting with every single person here, and they love him more for it.

  The thing is, for all the shit everyone puts him through, for all the shit that he puts himself through, the world adores him. There’s no one else quite like him out there. He’s charming, he’s real, he’s one of a kind.

  No wonder it’s so easy to love him.

  The thought only stuns me for a moment. I don’t know if I love Magnus but I’m definitely falling in that direction. Even with the words of his mother ringing in my ears, even with those fears, I know the fall is inevitable.

  Please take it easy on me, I think as I stare at him as he smiles for the cameras. Please let this work. Please don’t break my heart.

  As if he hears me, his eyes are brought to mine and his smile deepens.

  I feel like every doubt I had in my chest is giving way to butterflies.

  His grip on my hand tightens, and as soon as we’ve made our way into the building, his hand slips to my lower back. I’ve been told that, in public, hand-holding should be the only public affection we show, but fuck it. This whole affection thing in general is new to us and we’re going to indulge in it every chance we get.

  The gala itself isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, I don’t really know what a gala is anyway, but at least the paparazzi weren’t invited. There are some photographers, of course, but they were hired by the event and are very courteous, always asking before they can take photos.