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.

Of course there is no hiding from the fact that the whole reason for the gala is to celebrate our engagement. Naturally, a lot of the attention is on us.

Okay, all of the attention is on us.

Magnus and I go from person to person, letting them give us their well wishes and congratulations, posing for photos, making small talk. Even though he’s by my side the whole time, it seems I won’t have a second to talk to him in private.

“Your Serene Highness,” a voice says from behind us, and Magnus and I interrupt our conversation with one of Finland’s diplomats to see the prime minister of Norway standing behind us.

“I am so delighted to meet you,” he says.

The prime minister is tall, with glasses and a shlock of black hair that’s so obviously dyed. His smile couldn’t be faker but, hey, I’m getting pretty good at faking it too.

“Delighted to meet you too, Mr. Prime Minister,” I tell him, shaking his hand.

He shifts his cold, beady eyes to Magnus and that’s when it hits me that the whole damn reason why Magnus and I are even together right now is because of him. Because Magnus has to prove to him that he’s the future king and not some twenty-eight-year-old who got carried away with his daughter.

“Do you mind if I steal him away?” the prime minister says, putting his hand on Magnus’s shoulder.

I briefly meet Magnus’s eyes and they’re sparking with fear.

“No, of course not,” I tell him because what choice do I have here. If the Prime Minister of Norway needs to talk to the country’s future king, the future queen isn’t going to stop him.

But as the two of them walk off, the prime minister already deep in conversation about something, I’m not alone for long. Mari comes up to me, handing me a glass of champagne.

“What was that about?” she asks me nosily.

“I have no idea,” I tell her. “Is it just me or is the prime minister kind of, well…”

“Icky?” she offers with a nod. “He’s super icky. He wasn’t even supposed to be the prime minister but our old one, a woman, withdrew at the last minute and there wasn’t anyone to take her place. I just hope Magnus isn’t in any more trouble. You would think that the public apology he made would have been enough.”

“You’d also think this marriage would be enough,” I say wryly before I sip my champagne.

Mari smiles as she looks me over. Something about her gaze is very disarming. It reminds me of Magnus. Always seeing more than you want them to. “You know, I think you and Magnus make a good match.”