Royal Agitations & Temptations

Cromwell Palace, Henfordshire

Debutante Ball in honor of Princess Veronica Cromwell

Princess Veronica’s heart fluttered with a mix of nerves and excitement as she slipped into her debutante gown—a soft, ethereal blue silk embellished with delicate silver embroidery that shimmered under the glow of the palace chandeliers. It was a dream she had long cherished—or so she had thought.

The grand ballroom had always been the stage of her childhood fantasies. She and her older sister, Vivienne, had often crept to the edges of the gallery overlooking the grand events, crouching behind the heavy curtains to spy on the glittering tiaras, sweeping gowns, and elegant dances below. Those stolen glimpses had seemed so magical.

Now, at sixteen, it was finally Veronica’s turn. Vivienne, two years her senior, had chosen to forgo her debutante ball in favor of moving to Del Sol Valley to pursue an acting career with their maternal grandparents. With Vivienne’s heritage no longer the palace’s well-guarded secret—she wasn’t King Maximilian’s biological daughter—it had spared their parents from insisting. They knew it would only stir trouble. Veronica, on the other hand, had started off eager and full of anticipation, but it didn’t take long for her enthusiasm to dim once she became the center of attention.

The parade of eligible young men began, each introduction accompanied by a knowing look and a subtle nudge from her parents. If that weren’t bad enough, the ambitious mothers of these suitors hovered, clinging to Veronica’s every word like hawks circling prey.

“Isn’t my Paul just brilliant at polo, Your Royal Highness?” one woman cooed, tugging her sullen son closer. Paul, for his part, looked as though he wished the ground would swallow him whole.

“And my Henry is such an avid reader,” another mother chimed in, her voice dripping with pride. “His handsome head is positively brimming with knowledge! Go on, darling, tell Her Royal Highness about that history book you just finished.”

By the time the fifteenth suitor was introduced, Veronica’s initial thrill had been replaced by exhaustion. She leaned toward her brother, Crown Prince William, and whispered through a strained smile, “How many more of these Peacocking Princelings am I supposed to endure before I can call it a night?”

William chuckled, barely suppressing a laugh. “Peacocking Princelings? Is that what we’re calling them now? Does that mean I was one once? Lovely thought, thanks, sis.”

Veronica shrugged, eyeing the latest suitor’s garish ruffled shirt and rehearsed smile. “If the feather fits…”

With a smile so tight it hurt, she finally excused herself, muttering something vague about needing fresh air.

The Great Escape

The royal gardens stretched out like a maze of hedges, fountains, and moonlit pathways. Veronica slipped off her heels with a sigh of sheer exasperation—the kind only a teenager could muster. She sank onto a stone bench, hidden behind a thick hedge, and muttered aloud, “All I wanted was an adventure. Instead, I get Polo-Paul and History-Henry and all the other Peacocking Princelings. Ugh! This is awful. Why didn’t anyone warn me it would be like this?!”

“Sounds rough,” said a voice from the other side of the hedge.

Veronica practically jumped out of her skin. Peering through the foliage, she spotted a young man lounging on the ground, cross-legged, nibbling on what looked like an apple.

“Who are you?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

The boy raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a cryptic smile. “A keeper of secrets, a wanderer of paths,” he replied, brushing a stray leaf from his sleeve. “Or, as one poet might say, ‘a voice upon the whispering winds, belonging everywhere and nowhere.’”

Veronica tilted her head, unimpressed. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the best one I’ve got,” he said with a grin that only deepened. His sandy blond hair was charmingly disheveled, his rolled-up sleeves revealing arms dusted with dirt—details Veronica ignored in her frustration.

“Fine,” she said, slipping off the bench and walking around the hedge to sit beside him on the grass. “I won’t tell on you if you won’t tell on me,” she decided as she carefully spread the folds of her ballgown around her, ensuring the delicate fabric wouldn’t crease or snag on the uneven ground.

“Deal.”

His grin widened as she launched into her tirade.

“I don’t know why I got my hopes up. I thought tonight would be magical, you know? Meet interesting people, maybe someone who’s traveled the world, done exciting things. But no! It’s all ‘meet Paul, the polo king,’ and ‘Henry, the guy who reads.’ Are there people in our circles who don’t play polo, or at least ride well, and read? How is that even worth mentioning?!” She threw up her hands dramatically. “I’m sixteen! Sixteen! I don’t care about any of that. And it gets worse—suddenly it’s all about choosing who to visit so their parents can start planning weddings. Weddings! Who at sixteen thinks about weddings?!”

She punctuated her frustration with a dramatic gesture, nearly knocking the apple from his hand. He leaned back slightly, chuckling, the sound warm and genuine.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “You wanted adventure, and instead, you got…Polo-Paul, the peacocking princeling, engagement band locked and loaded, pending a series of polite visits and awkward introductions? Riveting. Personally, I prefer archery, at least it could come in handy at times, can’t think what I would ever need Polo for.”

“Yes!” she burst out, laughing despite her simmering irritation. “You get it! Isn’t it positively…antiquated? Why are we still doing this? Papa will get an earful tomorrow—he should have warned me. Or better yet, not even arranged this nonsense! If he really thought I’d like one of those…goons, then he doesn’t know me at all. And the fact that Mama allowed it—unbelievable!”

He took a bite of his apple, nodding along. “Your parents probably don’t have much of a choice. Tradition’s a stubborn thing. Ignore the old rules and you risk chaos. Trust me, it’s not worth it. But yes, I get it. Why else would I be hiding out here?”

Veronica narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Wait. Why are you hiding? Don’t tell me you’re escaping from those insufferable boys and their parents, too. Are you part of the catering crew? And where did you even get that apple?”

He laughed, gesturing vaguely toward the trees. “There’s a tree just over there. Not very high—easy pickings. And no, I’m not with the catering crew. The truth is much, much worse. Let’s just say I had my reasons for disappearing.”

“Elias! There you are!” a sharp voice interrupted, cutting through the moment like a blade.

Both of them jumped, scrambling to their feet as a man in a pristine uniform strode toward them. His stern expression softened slightly as he gave a respectful bow to Veronica. “Your Royal Highness, my apologies for the intrusion. I trust His Highness hasn’t caused any inconvenience?”

Veronica blinked, still processing the scene. “His High—wait, what now? You’re a prince?! You should have identified yourself!”

The boy—no, the prince—straightened, brushing off his trousers with an air that was far too casual for someone caught lurking behind hedges. “Elias Gyllenborg of Nordhaven,” he announced with an exaggerated bow and a grin so infuriatingly smug it could probably power a small city. “Crown Prince, actually. At your service, and now fully identified, Princess. And yes, before you even ask, I am one of those pesky Peacocking Princelings you seem to regard with the enthusiasm one reserves for lukewarm tea or rainy picnics.”

He didn’t stop there—of course he didn’t. “Brought here by the same archaic traditions that seem to plague both our families, solely to make your acquaintance and determine if my parents should immediately start drafting an elaborate timeline for our inevitable royal merger. Let me guess: several months of polite visits, an official statement that we’re dating—purely for optics, of course—a picture-perfect engagement timed conveniently with graduation, and then, the pièce de résistance, a wedding so grand it leaves at least three small countries bankrupt.”

He paused just long enough to flash an insufferably charming smile. “That, Princess, is why I was hiding. Not that you’re lacking appeal—though I suspect your opinion of me could use some work—but because we’re stuck in the world’s longest-running soap opera. And for what it’s worth, while I’ve never tried polo, I do happen to enjoy archery. I also dabble in fencing when I’m not restoring vintage motorcycles or humiliating my chess opponents. Not sure if any of that makes me more tolerable, but at least I’m not entirely boring like my hapless fellow peacocks with their overbearing mothers.”

Before Veronica could gather her wits, the stern advisor swooped in like an unstoppable force of decorum. “Your Highness!” he exclaimed, shaking his head in exasperation. Without hesitation, he reached for Elias’s arms, inspecting them critically. “Covered in dirt, as usual. Stand still. Think of the impression you are making, Your Highness. I am appalled! As your parents would be!”

Elias sighed dramatically and gestured toward the man. “Princess Veronica, allow me to introduce the ever-diligent Lord Fredrik, my appointed babysitter and part-time tyrant. When not hunting me down for sport, he serves as my father’s trusted advisor.”

Fredrik stopped mid-inspection, his brow tightening ever so slightly as he turned to Veronica. “Alas, Your Royal Highness’ antics do not leave me much time for that part of my assignments. I must apologize for His Highness’s manners, Your Highness—or lack thereof. Rest assured, I’m doing my utmost to uphold royal standards, despite constant setbacks.” Frederick’s rant made Elias laugh.

Veronica looked on, dumbstruck, as Lord Fredrik produced a handkerchief and began scrubbing Elias’s hands clean with the precision of someone who had done this far too many times. Elias let it all happen with the resigned air of a man well-versed in his fate. He shot Veronica a tortured look over Fredrik’s shoulder, clearly pleading for sympathy.

“Do you see what I endure?” Elias said, wincing slightly as Lord Fredrik rolled down his previously dirt-smudged sleeves and buttoned the cuffs with military precision. The advisor then straightened the lapel of Elias’s ceremonial jacket, its silver and light blue trim gleaming under the lanterns. “I’m not even allowed to look roguish for five minutes.”

Fredrik raised an eyebrow but did not respond, instead turning his attention to Veronica and bowing slightly again. “Your Royal Highness, I must apologize for the state in which His Highness presented himself. It is most improper for a guest—especially a royal guest—to appear so unkempt at an occasion of such significance.”

Elias groaned dramatically. “You make it sound like I fell out of a tree at the princess’s feet in some state of undress.”

“Hmm,” Fredrik replied, his tone dry, “one could argue it appeared so. Fortunately, I’ve mitigated the worst of the damage.” He straightened up, folding his hands neatly behind his back. “Your Highness, I trust everything remains to your satisfaction for the evening? Despite certain… interruptions?”

Veronica, still caught off guard, quickly composed herself and nodded. “Quite satisfactory, thank you, Lord Fredrik. Though I wouldn’t call it an interruption. Let’s just say it added some unexpected excitement.”

Fredrik inclined his head. “A most gracious response, Your Highness. How endearing.” He cast a pointed look at Elias. “Perhaps His Highness might take note of such decorum.”

Elias threw his hands up in mock surrender, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Yes, yes, noted. I’ll strive to embody endearing decorum in the future. Duly chastised, Fredrik.”

“Do try to take this a little more seriously, Your Highness,” Fredrik replied, his tone clipped though there was the faintest trace of amusement in his otherwise stern demeanor.

As Veronica attempted to step forward, her wide ballgown caught on the edge of the hedge. She let out a small yelp as the fabric twisted, puffed, and fought her every movement. “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she muttered, tugging ineffectively at the stubborn layers of silk.

Elias, noticing her predicament, leaned over with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Careful, Blåfjäril,” he teased, steadying her while bending down to free the trapped fabric. “If the dress eats you alive, I’ll have no one to commiserate with.”

Veronica stilled, her glare tempered by curiosity. “Blaffer-what? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tilted his head, his smile playful. “It’s Nordiska, my mother tongue. It means Blue Butterfly—‘BLOH-fyair-il.’ Seemed fitting. You flitted into the garden so gracefully, and I couldn’t quite pin you down. Blue for the dress, butterfly for…well, the way you seem to flutter between disdain and amusement when looking at me.”

She narrowed her eyes, though her lips quirked into a faint smile. “I do not flit or flutter. I stride. Or perhaps glide. Elegantly.”

“Oh, most certainly,” he replied with an exaggeratedly solemn nod. “A royal flutter, of course. Very dignified. And I must say, the colors suit you—you’re practically wearing Nordhaven’s flag. I am most flattered.” He gestured to her shimmering blue gown with its silver embroidery. “Coincidence or tribute? Either way, I’m deeply honored.”

“It’s pure coincidence,” she retorted, cheeks flushing despite herself. “I didn’t even know your country’s colors until tonight.”

“Ah, bad mark on your tutors for not teaching you the flags of other countries, especially those your own has long-standing trade agreements with, but how fortuitous,” Elias said, his grin deepening. “You’d fit right in. You could stroll into Nordhaven tomorrow, and no one would question it.”

She shot him a glare, waving him off. “Don’t you dare make fun of me, Prince Projectile.”

Fredrik, horrified, interjected with a scandalized tone. “Your Highness! Such informality is unbecoming—and I must decidedly protest–His Highness outranks you by most social standards, after all. He will be king one day!”

“She’s allowed,” Elias said quickly, cutting Fredrik off with a sly smile. “I don’t mind her teasing one bit. The princess has had a trying evening. Haven’t you, Blåfjäril?”

Veronica composed herself with as much dignity as she could muster. “More trying by the minute,” she quipped, though her lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

Elias extended an arm to her with dramatic flair. “Well, then. My arm is now spotless, thanks to Fredrik’s relentless pursuit of propriety. Care to link yours before he insists I undergo a full wardrobe change?”

Veronica hesitated for only a moment before slipping her arm through his, her gown rustling as she moved. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered under her breath.

“Only on my good days,” he replied with a wink. “On bad days, I’m absolutely intolerable.”

“You don’t say. And what would you call today then? Hard to distinguish, still.”

“An exceedingly good day is what I would call tonight, getting better by the minute.”

As they made their way back toward the Grand Hall, he leaned in just slightly, his voice low. “Now, remember—nod politely, smile graciously, and we’ll pretend we were merely out for a breath of fresh air together. A planned excursion, if you will. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Veronica stifled a laugh, her posture straightening as the towering entrance of the Grand Hall came into view. The warm golden light spilled from the open doors, its glow beckoning them back into the structured chaos of royal tradition.

The Return to the Grand Hall

The moment they stepped inside, the room seemed to still as all eyes turned toward them. Veronica’s parents, King Maximilian and Queen Aria Grace, exchanged a glance—a mix of relief and curiosity. Her brother, Crown Prince William, raised an eyebrow, his expression teetering between amusement and suspicion.

“Well, well,” William said with a smirk as they approached. “Look who decided to grace us with their presence—and arm in arm, no less. Should we be concerned? Are you quite well, little sister? Judging by the bright color of your cheeks, you might be running a fever.”

Before Veronica could retort, Elias released her arm with a smooth bow and said, “No reason for concern, Your Highness. The wonderfully fresh and crisp Henfordian air brings color to everyone’s cheeks.” He turned to Veronica’s parents, bowing with practiced grace. “Your Majesties, it’s an honor to officially meet you. I must apologize for monopolizing your daughter’s time—how unforgivably selfish of me. Ever the gracious princess, she was kind enough to rescue me from getting lost in your beautiful gardens.”

Queen Aria Grace’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Rescue you, was it? How intriguing. Last I ventured into the gardens, they seemed perfectly navigable. But if Your Highness found them troublesome, perhaps the groundskeepers will need to spring into immediate action.”

Elias’s smile widened, but before he could reply, King Maximilian chuckled, his gaze sharp yet not unfriendly. “I’m sorry, young man, but I must admit I don’t recall being introduced to you yet.”

“Elias Gyllenborg of Nordhaven, at your service, Your Majesties,” he said, straightening with a confident nod. “Crown Prince, technically—though I suspect your daughter has already bestowed upon me a far less flattering title.”

William leaned forward slightly, his smirk deepening. “Oh, I’m sure she has. All three of my sisters are rather creative that way. I shudder to think what they call me behind my back—likely something that’d make a sailor blush.”

Veronica shot him a glare, her cheeks flushing. “Will! Stop! I’m not like that! I don’t go around calling people names!” Her protest only seemed to amuse him more, and her blush deepened when she noticed the knowing grin playing on Elias’s lips.

Before the conversation could spiral further, another royal couple approached: King Sven and Queen Ingrid Gyllenborg of Nordhaven, flanked by a younger boy who looked to be around fourteen. The resemblance between Elias and his parents was striking, though the boy’s mischievous glint mirrored his older brother’s playful demeanor.

“Ah, there you are, my wayward son,” King Sven said, directing a pointed look at Elias. “I had a feeling we’d find you somewhere…unexpected. So, the palace gardens, as Lord Frederik reports. How curious—I hadn’t pegged you as someone to fancy moonlit walks by yourself. Though clearly, you weren’t entirely by yourself.”

He turned to Veronica’s parents with an apologetic smile. “Your Majesties, I must apologize on behalf of my son. Protocol has never been his strongest suit.”

Queen Ingrid sighed, shaking her head with a smile that blended indulgence with exasperation. “If it’s any consolation, this is far from the first time he’s gone rogue. We’re still recovering from the time he snuck out of a banquet to go sailing with Magnus. An unforgettable embarrassment, I assure you.”

Queen Aria Grace laughed softly, nodding in agreement. “Oh, it sounds like you and I should compare notes about children and their…creative interpretations of royal responsibilities.”

Queen Ingrid chuckled, her eyes sparkling with humor. “Indeed, I’d love that. Though I suspect it might take more than one evening—and a generous supply of champagne.”

Queen Aria Grace smiled knowingly. “Champagne? I was thinking something stronger might be required. Perhaps a fine cognac—parenting calls for resilience, after all.”

Queen Ingrid laughed, nodding. “An excellent point. Though perhaps we alternate—start with champagne, end with cognac. A well-rounded strategy.”

Elias grinned unabashedly. “In my defense, it was never my intention to drive my mother and Her Majesty to drink. The weather was simply perfect, the sailing exhilarating—and, well, the speeches a little less so.”

King Maximilian clasped King Sven’s hand with a firm but cordial grip, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. “There’s no need for apologies, my friend. I happen to find you son rather refreshing, if anything, I daresay Veronica has come to cherish the occasional reprieve from the weight of tradition herself as well. Isn’t that so, my dear? Ah, yes, a debutante gala in your honor, yet somehow the highlight of the evening thus far has been the search party sent about to locate its guest of honor.” His tone was light, though his raised brow betrayed his mock sternness. “I can only imagine the ball was so intensely thrilling that you felt the need to escape your own celebration. Shall we agree not to make a habit of this particular tradition?”

Veronica fumbled for words, her smile turning sheepish. “Well, I…just needed some air. And, um, he also…needed air. So we…took air. Together. Well, not together, exactly—I took air, and he took air, and then we happened upon each other and, well…took air…next to each other.”

Her rambling explanation only made her blush more. Elias, clearly entertained, stepped in smoothly. “A mutual appreciation for fresh air, Your Majesty. Truly, is there a nobler cause?”

His playful deflection drew soft laughter from both kings, easing the tension in the moment. Veronica shot Elias a quick, grateful glance, though her cheeks remained rosier than usual.

Queen Aria Grace chimed in, her tone carrying the polished warmth of diplomacy. “Air. Indeed, a noble cause, though I wasn’t this wildly aware that outside air is so different from the air in here. Live and learn. And how is your youngest?” Her gaze flicked to Magnus, who was lingering nearby with the wide-eyed curiosity of a boy not yet burdened by royal expectations. “He seems quite charming, the handsome young prince. Magnus, if memory serves.”

Magnus stepped forward with a bright grin. “Charming? That’s the first time anyone’s said that about me!” He looked up at his mother. “Did you hear that, Mum? The Queen of Henfordshire herself said so! And handsome.”

“I have called you and your brother handsome many times, Mags, and you both are quite charming,” Queen Ingrid replied with a knowing smile.

“Yes, but you have to say that, you’re my Mum. But she doesn’t. And she is ViVa’s daughter!” Magnus shot back with the impeccable logic only a boy his age could muster.

Queen Ingrid gave him a playful nudge. “Yes, darling, and I advise you not to let it go to your head.”

Magnus turned his attention to Elias and sighed dramatically. “Still, it’s unfair. You always get to go to the best events and meet the prettiest girls. By the time I am old enough, none will be left for me! I don’t want to marry an ugly princess and have ugly babies!”

Queen Ingrid immediately fixed her son with a look—the kind only a seasoned mother could master. “Oh, dear God! Magnus,” she said sharply, though her tone remained controlled, “that is quite enough. For all that is holy, stop speaking now.”

As the other royals stifled their amusement, William took one look at Magnus’s earnest expression and failed spectacularly. His shoulders began to shake, and his lips twitched as he valiantly tried to suppress a laugh. Beside him, Wilhelmina covered her mouth with both hands, her wide, sparkling eyes betraying her struggle.

Finally, William leaned toward Mina and murmured something that only made her giggle harder. Grinning helplessly, he took her arm and steered her toward the terrace, his voice barely audible as he said, “We need air—now.”

The faint sound of Mina’s laughter floated back into the room as they exited, leaving the remaining royals to recover.

King Maximilian cleared his throat, his composure teetering. Queen Aria Grace pressed her lips together, though her eyes gleamed with mirth. Even Elias’s lips quirked into a grin as he exchanged an amused glance with Veronica, who, though valiantly trying to appear unaffected, couldn’t stop her own smile from slipping through.

Magnus, oblivious to the chaos he’d caused, shrugged. “I don’t see what’s so funny. I’m just being honest.”

At that, King Maximilian lost the battle, letting out a low laugh that seemed to ripple through the group. Queen Aria Grace covered her mouth with a gloved hand, her laugh mingling with Queen Ingrid’s exasperated groan. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Even Elias chuckled openly, shaking his head.

“Magnus, you truly have a gift for diplomacy,” Elias quipped, clapping his younger brother on the shoulder. “Let’s hope you still get invited to these events after tonight.”

Magnus shrugged, grinning unabashedly. “I don’t see why not. I’m clearly the most entertaining one here.”

“Magnus, please, by all that is holy, enough. Behave, please, son!” King Sven called him to order.

Magnus flinched slightly but tried to recover, looking contrite as he muttered, “I am behaving.”

“If this is what you call behaving,” King Sven interjected with a sigh, “then I dread to see the alternative. I think it would be best to have you seen to your quarters.” The king waved in Lord Frederik.

Before the boy could muster a defense, Elias smirked, leaning down to ruffle his younger brother’s hair with deliberate mischief. “Oh, come now, Mags. You are bored here already, I can see that. Just go to your room and watch your cartoons and don’t worry about girls yet. It’s not my fault I was born first. You missed your chance, slowpoke. And by the time you are old enough, a new batch of princesses will be around, one prettier than the next.”

Magnus groaned, swatting Elias’s hand away. “Stop that!” His cheeks turned red as he struggled to smooth his hair back into place. He cast a quick glance at Veronica, mortified, and muttered, “You always make me look like a child.”

Elias raised an eyebrow, his grin unrepentant. “You’re fourteen.”

“Exactly!” Magnus huffed. “Old enough to be treated with respect. Almost a man!”

Queen Ingrid rolled her eyes just as Lord Frederik appeared swiftly, bowing his head. “Your Highness,” he said, gesturing politely for Magnus to follow.

Magnus groaned again but shuffled toward the staff member, muttering under his breath. As he passed Elias, he shot him a glare. “One day, I’ll be taller than you, and we’ll see who’s laughing then. You will NEVER have decent looking hair ever again!”

Elias chuckled, giving Magnus a casual wave as he walked off. “Looking forward to it, little brother.”

“That was effervescent. I see you’ve been making friends, my son,” King Sven remarked, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at Princess Veronica, who blushed deeply as he nodded at her “Princess.”.

“Of sorts,” Elias replied, looking at Veronica, his grin entirely unapologetic but she said nothing.

Queen Ingrid turned to Veronica’s parents with a warm expression. “I hope our older son hasn’t been too much trouble. Eli has a remarkable talent for finding ways to escape his responsibilities and leave chaos in his wake, usually not even intentionally.”

“Oh, he’s been delightful,” Queen Aria Grace said with a light laugh. “Though I suspect he and Veronica share that particular talent for shunning their duties.”

“Clearly,” King Maximilian added, giving his daughter a knowing look. “Disobedience appears to be a universal trait among teenagers, regardless of their station. Becoming a father is the easy part. Being one, however, takes patience, fortitude, and an unending sense of humor. And, on occasion, a glass of liquid patience from a fine vintage.”

As if on cue, a staffer discreetly approached, holding a tray of crystal glasses filled with champagne. Queen Aria Grace caught the staffer’s eye and gave a subtle nod, prompting them to step closer. Each of the adults picked up a glass, their movements smooth and unhurried, as though it had been planned all along.

Elias, standing nearby, reached out with an eager hand, only for King Sven to swat it away with a sharp clap. The older man pointed at him with a raised eyebrow, his expression equal parts stern and amused.

Elias groaned dramatically, withdrawing his hand. “I’m going to be 18 before too long!” He then turned to Veronica with an exaggeratedly solemn look. “In Nordhaven, that is the legal drinking age.”

Veronica stifled a laugh, her lips quirking up in amusement as she glanced toward his parents. Queen Ingrid gave her son a knowing look, shaking her head.

Sven chuckled, lifting his own glass. “Yes, Elias, but you’re not 18 yet. Perhaps that’s a lesson in patience for you.”

Queen Ingrid chimed in; her tone dry but affectionate. “Consider it part of your royal training, my dear. There’s more to adulthood than just age. You and I will have a stern talk about your behavior here at Cromwell Palace tomorrow, my son.”

“Oh super, Mum. I will clear my schedule.”

King Maximilian, watching the exchange, grinned and turned to Sven. “Ah, you see, Sven, that’s the difference between raising daughters and sons. I can’t recall any of my girls ever sneaking a glass off the tray before their time. William on the other hand … but that is a story for another day and a more private setting.”

Veronica flushed slightly at the comment, earning a teasing smirk from Elias. “Does that mean I’m off the hook, then? Since clearly, this is something Crown Princes just try?” he quipped, grinning at his father, who sighed and gave him a pointed look.

“Not quite,” Sven replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “But nice try, Eli. Very nice try. I will invite myself to the talk your mother wants to have with you.”

“Hm, lucky me. The more, the merrier.” Elias quipped.

Veronica raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Oh, and what was your brother saying about girls? Plural? Sounds routine. Are you one of … those types?”

Elias turned to her, his grin widening. “Slip of the tongue, Blåfjäril. I assure you, you’re quite singular. I am not the scoundrel my little brother has you believe. Close, maybe, but not quite.”

Before Veronica could respond, he winked at her, sending her heart into a flustered frenzy. She quickly looked away, hoping no one noticed the faint blush creeping up her cheeks.

Cromwell Stables, Henfordshire

The next morning

Veronica adjusted the leather reins in her hands, the morning sunlight spilling golden over the royal stables of Henfordshire Palace. Technically, the stables weren’t part of the palace proper, situated down a tree-lined path that wound past the ornamental pond and crossed a babbling stream. But as they still fell within the royal estate, they were close enough to feel like an extension of the palace grounds. The incline of the path made golf carts the preferred method of travel, though Veronica often chose to walk, appreciating the tranquility of the journey. Guards were discreetly stationed along the way, their presence a subtle reminder of royal security.

This morning, however, Veronica had little patience for the scenery. She was ready for a quiet ride across the rolling hills of her home, far from the remnants of the debutante ball and the overeager suitors and their annoying parents who lingered well past breakfast. The crisp air carried the faint, familiar scents of hay and saddle oil, promising a peaceful escape.

That peace shattered with the sound of muffled giggles and shuffling footsteps. She turned sharply, catching sight of Elias and Magnus sauntering into the stable yard, shoving each other like schoolboys.

“I thought I evaded all of those guests with no instinct when it’s the proper time to depart which should have been after breakfast,” Veronica remarked dryly, though a faint curve touched her lips.

Elias stopped and spread his hands wide, his grin already infuriatingly smug. “Tough luck, Princess. So, going for a ride, are we?”

“Obviously, I am not just taking my Aurelia here for a walk,” she replied, fixing him with a pointed look. “Do you ride?”

“Not really,” Elias replied with an exaggerated shrug, his tone maddeningly nonchalant. “But how hard can it be?”

Veronica froze, her jaw dropping slightly. “How hard…?” She stared at him, utterly taken aback. “Seriously?! It takes years to perfect!”

Elias’s grin only widened, his confidence completely unshaken. “I bet I can do it without any trouble.”

Her brows drew together, irritation flickering in her expression. Against her better judgment, she turned to the stable master and ordered a horse to be saddled for him. “Fine,” she said, her voice clipped. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As the stable hands moved swiftly to prepare a horse, Elias turned to Magnus, smirking as the two exchanged animated whispers in their native tongue. Whatever mischievous plot they were hatching, it ended with Magnus groaning, spinning on his heel, and stalking back toward the palace.

“Mags is going back to the palace,” Elias said lightly, stepping closer to Veronica with that infuriating smirk still in place. “I am all yours, Princess.”

“Oh, lucky me,” she muttered under her breath, gesturing toward the chestnut mare being led forward for him. “There’s your horse. When you get on, you’ll want to face that way… although, considering this is you, it likely doesn’t matter,” she added, her tone dripping with mock condescension.

Elias laughed, clearly entertained. “Oh, the perfectly proper Princess has a sharp tongue. I like it.” He made an exaggerated show of fumbling with the stirrups, climbing aboard the horse with such deliberate awkwardness that Veronica couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

She sighed, giving him a once-over. “Come on,” she said, grabbing the reins of his horse and leading it out of the stable yard. “You won’t last ten minutes out there without me.”

Their ride began uneventfully, Veronica keeping his horse firmly under control and muttering instructions whenever necessary. But as they reached the open fields, she relented and loosened the reins. Pulling out her phone to capture the sprawling landscape, she was caught completely off guard when Elias leaned over and snatched it from her hand.

“Elias!” she shouted, her voice indignant as she reached for it. He responded by nudging his horse into a canter, leaving her behind with an infuriating laugh.

“Catch me if you can, Princess!” he called over his shoulder, waving the phone tauntingly.

Grinding her teeth, Veronica urged her horse forward, chasing him across the sun-dappled meadows. She finally caught up with him in a serene clearing, where wildflowers stretched in vibrant patches across the grass. Dismounting with an unceremonious huff, she stormed toward him.

“Give it back!” she demanded, holding out her hand.

Elias dangled the phone just out of reach, his height making it an unfair contest. “What’s the magic word?” he teased, his tone light and maddening.

“Give. It. Back. I swear, if you don’t, I will call the guards!” Veronica glared, lunging for it, but he deftly switched the phone to his other hand, leaving her grasping at air.

“To do what, exactly? Arrest me? For being playful? That’s sure to go over well—starting an international incident over a phone. Imagine the headlines!” His grin widened, his teasing as relentless as ever. “Oh, Princess, you do know how to make a moment dramatic.”

They continued their game of cat and mouse until Elias, his laughter subsiding, finally handed the phone back. But before Veronica could retreat, he caught her entirely off guard, leaning in and brushing a quick, stolen kiss against her lips.

Veronica froze, stunned into silence, her phone slipping from her fingers. Elias caught it smoothly and returned it to her hand with an infuriatingly sly smile. By the time she found her voice to protest, he was already back on his horse, flashing a wink before galloping off toward the stables.

By the time Veronica returned to the royal stables, her cheeks were still tinged pink—not entirely from the ride. She dismounted with an air of forced composure, brushing imaginary dust from her riding breeches as the stable hands, stationed at the offsite royal stables, stepped forward to take the horse. Her mind raced, replaying the events in the clearing and the audacity of that stolen kiss.

After the short journey back to the palace grounds—up the incline, across the stream, and past the pond—she found herself crossing the courtyard. The Gyllenborgs were making their final preparations to depart. Their convoy of gleaming limousines, flying the royal Nordhaven flags, stood lined up in perfect symmetry. Attendants bustled about, ensuring every detail was in order as Veronica approached with steady determination.

Elias stood at the center of it all, exuding his usual effortless confidence as he exchanged farewells. Spotting her, his smirk deepened, a knowing glint flickering in his eyes. “Ah, Princess, how fortunate for us that you’ve made it back just in time from your morning ride to see us off,” he said, his tone brimming with mock delight. “I trust it was a most serene and reflective outing?”

Veronica squared her shoulders and leaned in under the guise of decorum, her tone sharp and low enough to remain private. “You lied to me,” she hissed, her words laced with irritation. “You can ride.”

Elias’s chuckle was soft yet entirely unapologetic. “Of course I can ride,” he replied, his voice brimming with amusement. “And here I thought you enjoyed our little game. Shall I apologize for making the morning more exciting?”

Her glare narrowed, though her heart betrayed her annoyance with a faint, unbidden flutter. “You’re absolutely insufferable,” she shot back, her tone clipped.

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning in just enough to make her breath hitch, “you haven’t stormed off in a royal huff. Now that’s interesting.” His grin deepened as he added, “Perhaps you’re not as immune to my charm as you’d like to believe.”

Veronica opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but he cut her off smoothly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you ever grow tired of suffocating tradition,” he said, his tone softer but still dripping with irreverence, “I’ve taken the liberty of adding my number to your phone.” His grin turned wicked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re welcome, Princess. Don’t leave me waiting too long. After all, patience isn’t exactly a virtue I’m known for.”

She inhaled sharply, her hand twitching toward her pocket, though she refused to check if he was bluffing. “I hope you’re comfortable with disappointment,” she shot back, her tone dry and cutting. “You’ll die waiting for my call.”

Elias’s smirk only grew, his arrogance unshaken. “Then I suppose I’ll have to hope for a miraculous change of heart. You do seem full of surprises, after all.”

Before she could conjure a cutting remark, Elias raised his voice, his playful demeanor slipping into the polished veneer of a Crown Prince. “It has been an absolute pleasure and a truly riveting experience making your acquaintance, my dear Princess Veronica,” he announced with a graceful bow that was only slightly exaggerated. But the glint of mischief in his eyes gave him away. With one last sly smile, he turned on his heel and strode toward the awaiting convoy, leaving her standing there caught between frustration and reluctant intrigue.

Veronica stood rooted to the spot, torn between indignation and begrudging intrigue as the motorcade began its departure. The faint echo of Elias’s laughter lingered in her ears, and despite herself, she found her fingers brushing against the phone in her pocket. For all his exasperating antics, he had certainly left an impression—and perhaps that was precisely his intention.

Cromwell Palace, Henfordshire

A few days later

After the debutante ball, Veronica’s correspondence had taken a dramatic and unwelcome turn. A flood of letters arrived at the palace over the following days, each penned by one of the young men she’d danced with. They varied in tone—some effusively complimentary, others confident but tedious—all filled with flowery declarations of admiration. Veronica read them with a mix of boredom and irritation, her attention fading halfway through each carefully composed paragraph. None of them held her interest for long.

Still, she refused to let the staff discard the letters outright. It wasn’t that she expected one of them to stand out; it was just a matter of due diligence. Or so she told herself. In truth, she was holding her breath for an entirely different letter, though she would have denied it if pressed. One bearing the royal seal of Nordhaven.

Since the ball, she had stared at her phone more times than she cared to admit, willing some sign of life from Elias to appear. A call, a message—anything. But none ever came. Each time her phone lit up, it was just family or friends, or another suitor sending yet another flowery missive. The silence from him was maddening. So when the cream-colored envelope with the Nordhaven crest finally arrived, her heart stumbled, her fingers trembling slightly as she broke the seal.

Inside was a single sheet of thick stationery, the handwriting neat yet slanted, boyish in a way that was infuriatingly charming.

“Made you look, blåfjäril. That’s all. If you want to talk, you have my number. I’m not in the habit of sending sappy proclamations of emotions like the others probably all have by now. Besides, we both know you were waiting for this one anyway. ;) E.G.”

Veronica’s jaw clenched as her eyes darted across the note, the playful arrogance practically oozing from every stroke of the pen. After waiting days—days—for some kind of acknowledgment, this was all he had to say? She told herself it was ridiculous to feel annoyed, but the butterflies stirring in her stomach suggested otherwise.

With a huff, she folded the note and tucked it into the back of her desk drawer, where she most certainly was not keeping it for sentimental reasons. Or because, absurdly, the faintest hint of something warm and woodsy clung to the paper—like pine needles after rain or the fleeting trace of cologne someone left behind in a crowded room. It was ridiculous, really. How could a letter smell like him? And yet, the idea refused to leave her mind.

Before she could stop herself, she yanked the drawer open again, pulling the note out. Holding it close to her face, she closed her eyes and breathed in, the faint scent still lingering and conjuring an image of his infuriating, self-assured grin. Her cheeks flushed hot as realization dawned. What was she doing?

With a frustrated groan, she shoved the note back into the drawer, slamming it shut as if to punish herself for the foolish moment. She turned away, determined to think about anything—anything—other than Elias and his maddening ability to occupy far too much space in her mind.

She had no intention of calling him—not after that infuriatingly smug letter. But texting? That was impersonal enough to keep her dignity intact. Probably. With a sigh, she grabbed her phone and typed out a message, her thumbs flying across the screen.

“Got your note. You are irritating and dismal!”

She hesitated for a brief moment before hitting send, her pulse quickening as she watched the message deliver. It didn’t take long for his reply to arrive. Her phone buzzing sounded like his infuriating chuckle to her.

“We had established that already. I hear your parents think Nordhaven has a lot to offer. I wonder if they mean more than just the scenery and our exports, blåfjäril. Either way, if you weren’t already planning on coming up with an excuse to visit this beautiful citystate already, which I think you were, but won’t admit, consider yourself personally invited to Gyllenborg Palace by the Crown Prince himself. Now it would be rude to not come, and you wouldn’t want to be rude and offend an entire kingdom your parents seem rather fond of, would you? Bring them, so my parents can gloat about our beautiful kingdom, and let me add that in my most humble opinion the view would improve tremendously if you were in it, and I am sure I can find ways to make it worth your while. ;) E.G.”

Her eyes flicked across the message once, then twice, as her cheeks burned. How dare he? No, more importantly, why did her heart flip at the word “personally invited” and his around-four-corners way of calling her pretty? She groaned, tossing her phone onto her bed as her mind reeled, trying—and failing—not to picture his stupid, smug grin. Or that kiss. Hmm. If a quick peck left such an impression, how would a REAL kiss feel? Were all citizens of Nordhaven like him? Just like most people from Henfordshire were quietly politely aloof? Like most people in Zeehaven were so outgoing and friendly, knew no strangers?

Veronica stared at her phone, her mind spinning with a whirlwind of thoughts. Her fingers hovered over the screen, tempted to fire back a snarky reply—or perhaps no reply at all. But instead, she tossed the phone onto her bed, her cheeks flushed and her heart annoyingly fluttering. She couldn’t deny it any longer. She needed to act. She reached for her phone and started typing.

Gyllenborg Palace, Nordhaven

A couple days later

As they stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, the sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the palace grounds. Veronica barely had time to register Elias slipping his hand into hers before he gave a gentle tug, leading her toward the driveway.

“Where are we going?” she asked, soft-spoken but wary, her curiosity pulling at the edges of her hesitation. She fell into step next to him, her thoughts drifting back to the note that had arrived earlier that day.

Join me for a little excursion. Leave your frilly dresses in the closet, Royalty Barbie, and wear something practical, inconspicuous—nobody to impress today—we’re going on an adventure. At 3:00 in the lobby, don’t be tardy. E.G.

The cheeky tone had nearly made her crumple the paper on sight, but curiosity had won out. Adventure? she had wondered. What kind of adventure could a Crown Prince possibly mean? And then, of course, there was the nickname. Royalty Barbie. She’d rolled her eyes at that, muttering to herself about his insufferable ego as she sifted through her wardrobe. After much deliberation, she’d finally settled on a pair of fitted blue jeans, dark boots with a low block heel, and a crisp white blouse layered beneath a dark blue sweater. It was practical enough to heed his instructions while maintaining a sense of polished elegance. Her light blonde hair, hastily twisted into a messy bun, added an air of casual charm to the ensemble.

The annoying part was until only a few years ago, she wanted to be like Barbie and she thought all those balls her parents and older siblings always attended in beautiful gowns were to die for, so she wanted to be Princess Barbie. Agitating, how he called out her deepest secrets with such ease. Still, she couldn’t deny the spark of intrigue it ignited.

Back in the current moment, Elias only glanced back, a smirk curving his lips. “You’ll see.”

Her thoughts drifted back to just a few moments earlier, when she’d descended the grand staircase and seen him waiting for her in the lobby.

The sight had stopped her in her tracks and turned her knees into pudding. He’d stood there as if he owned the world, leaning casually against the bannister with an easy, self-assured grin. The black leather jacket, sharp and fitted, paired with sleek leather pants that seemed scandalously rebellious for a Crown Prince, made the entire image feel like something conjured straight from every teenage girl’s daydream. Blonde, tousled hair caught the light in a way that made her stomach flip, and for a brief, disorienting moment, she’d faltered. Only a quick grip on the bannister had stopped her from outright stumbling.

Elias had noticed, of course. His sharp gaze missed nothing, and the smirk that spread across his face had been nothing short of infuriating as he lunged forward and up the steps, catching and steadying her. “Careful, little princess,” he’d told her. “Don’t need to make quite that much of an entrance.”

Her cheeks had burned at his tone—teasing and entirely too knowing—but she’d forced herself to straighten and brush the moment aside as if it hadn’t happened. “You didn’t tell me this ‘excursion’ involved looking like a character from some rogue bad-boy movie,” she’d quipped, her voice soft but with just enough bite to mask her fluster.

His response had been maddeningly nonchalant, his smirk only deepening as he replied, “Bad boy? Just because of an outfit choice? How judgy of you. Shall we?”

Back in the moment, they rounded the corner, and Veronica stopped in her tracks at the sight of a sleek motorcycle parked at the edge of the cobbled driveway. Its polished frame gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting the amber hues of the sky. Elias picked up a helmet resting on the seat, turned to her, and held it out.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice quiet but firm as she eyed the bike with a mixture of doubt and disbelief.

“Like a heart attack,” he replied, his tone laced with mischief. “What’s wrong? Scared, little princess? I supposed I needn’t ask if you have ever been on one of those. I can read the answer in your face. So, instead, my question is: do you trust me?”

Her chin lifted slightly, a spark of determination flickering behind her reserved demeanor. “Not at all.”

It made him laugh, before pretending to be offended. “Aww, you are breaking my heart. Not even a little bit. A teeny weeny tiny bit?” the way he said it made it impossible for her not to giggle, as he kept motioning tiny amounts with his index finger and thumb, until she swatted his hand away. “Alright, alright, fine then. I trust you. But I don’t trust that thing there.”

“Oh, Black Betty does exactly what I tell her to, like a good girl.” he winked at her, clearly trying to get her roweled up, while motioning the helmet at her.

With a delicate but decisive motion, she took it from him and placed it on her head. Elias stepped closer, fastening the straps with practiced ease, his fingers brushing her skin as he adjusted the fit. Veronica’s breath caught at the unexpected warmth of his touch, her cheeks burning as she fought to maintain her composure.

“Perfect,” he said, stepping back with an approving nod.

Veronica’s gaze shifted toward the motorcycle, and something occurred to her. “What about you? Don’t you need a helmet?”

Elias chuckled, his grin widening as he pulled a pair of sleek black leather gloves from his jacket pocket. Slipping them on, he tugged the cuffs snugly into place, the soft creak of the leather breaking the quiet. Then he turned back to her, one brow arching as he responded with maddening nonchalance. “Not much in this head of mine worth saving.”

He winked at her, the gesture so effortlessly confident that it stole whatever rebuttal she had been forming. Before she could argue, Elias swung his leg over the bike in one fluid motion, settling into the seat with the kind of ease that spoke of experience. His posture was relaxed, his hands resting lightly on the handlebars. He glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “Well? Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there admiring me?”

Veronica huffed softly, more at herself than at him, and stepped forward. As she climbed onto the bike behind him, her movements were careful and deliberate. The moment her body pressed against his back, a rush of exhilaration swept through her—a heady mix of nerves and excitement that left her breathless.

Elias reached back, his gloved hands finding hers as he guided her arms around his waist. The leather was cool against her skin, but his touch was firm and sure, grounding her. “Hold on tight, princess,” he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying a hint of something that sent her pulse skittering. “Don’t let go.”

The words seemed to carry a weight beyond their literal meaning, and Veronica couldn’t help but wonder if he intended it that way. She tightened her grip, her heart pounding as the engine roared to life beneath them. The vibration of the bike, the closeness of his body, and the anticipation of what lay ahead all combined into a thrilling, untethered feeling she’d never experienced before.

The palace grounds blurred behind them as they sped through Nordhaven’s winding streets. The city glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, a perfect blend of classic elegance and modern charm. Cobblestone alleys wove between pastel-hued buildings with tall, narrow windows, while bustling cafes spilled out onto the streets, their patrons enjoying the last rays of the day. Beyond the city center, the ocean sparkled like a sheet of gold, mirroring the sky’s fiery hues. The air smelled of sea salt, fresh pastries, and distant pine—and him—creating a sensory mix that heightened the sense of freedom.

By the time they left the city behind, Veronica’s initial unease had melted into exhilaration. The open roads led them up gently sloping hills, dotted with wildflowers swaying in the breeze. The horizon stretched out endlessly, framed by snow-capped peaks in the distance.

When they finally stopped, Elias dismounted first, extending a hand to help her off. The edge of the overlook offered an unbroken view of the ocean meeting the mountains, bathed in the warm amber of the setting sun. Veronica felt her breath catch as she took it all in.

“Stunning,” she murmured, the word slipping out almost unconsciously.

“Absolutely,” Elias replied, his voice low and near, sending a shiver down her spine. When she turned her head she saw him staring at her, unapologetically and she realized he never meant the scenery. Her heartbeat increased to hyperspeed as he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “Incredibly stunning. And she smells so good…”

Veronica turned toward him, her heart racing as the teasing note in his voice softened. His gaze was locked on hers, intent and unwavering, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the world reduced to golden light, the steady ocean breeze, and the space between them.

Elias closed the distance, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both tender and electric. Veronica felt her pulse quicken as warmth flooded her chest, her hands instinctively gripping the edges of his jacket to steady herself. It was as though the world tilted, leaving only the two of them suspended in the moment.

When they pulled apart, the corners of Elias’s mouth quirked into a roguish smile. “Still scared, little princess?”

Veronica’s lips curved into a soft, breathless smile of her own. “Not even a little.”

He winked. “I am glad you came. You are much braver than I thought. I am impressed.”

As they stood at the edge of the overlook, the golden light of the setting sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow. The ocean stretched endlessly before them, its surface shimmering like liquid gold, while the distant mountains framed the horizon in soft, dusky hues. Veronica felt the cool breeze tug at her hair, sending a slight shiver down her spine.

Elias noticed. Without a word, he shrugged off his leather jacket, the movement fluid and unhurried. Before she could protest, he draped it over her shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment as he adjusted it to fit snugly around her. The warmth of the jacket, combined with the faint scent of leather and something distinctly him, sent a wave of unexpected emotion through her.

“You’re chilly,” he said softly, his voice carrying a rare gentleness that made her heart skip. His arm found its way around her waist, pulling her closer as they both gazed out at the breathtaking view.

For a moment, the world seemed to still. The rhythmic crash of waves far below and the rustle of the wind were the only sounds, but Veronica’s thoughts were consumed by the steady warmth of his presence beside her.

“You’re here for three days,” Elias said, breaking the silence. His voice was low, steady, and laced with something genuine that caught her off guard. “That gives me three days to show you who I really am, Princess. And after those three days, I want you to go home and think—really think—if you want me to get to know you better too. If you do, invite me. I’ll come. And then you can show me who you really are.”

The sincerity in his words sent a jolt of electricity through her, leaving her momentarily speechless. But, in true Elias fashion, he couldn’t leave it at that.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear as his tone shifted back to its usual teasing lilt. “Oh, and you should wear jeans more often. They do wonders for your royal bum.”

Veronica’s cheeks flamed, and she pulled back just enough to glare at him, though the corners of her lips betrayed the faintest twitch of a smile. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Elias grinned, utterly unrepentant, and gave her waist one last squeeze before releasing her. “And yet, here you are,” he said, his voice light but his gaze lingering on hers, as if daring her to deny it.