Kingdom of Nordhaven
The roar of the jet engines faded as Princess Veronica Cromwell stepped onto the windswept tarmac of Nordhaven’s royal airstrip, flanked by her poised entourage. The crisp Nordic air carried the scent of evergreen trees and distant sea spray, a stark contrast to the milder climate of her home kingdom, Henfordshire. A regal escort awaited her—led by Crown Prince Elias Gyllenborg himself. Veronica’s smile grew big, her eyes lit up, until she realized and regained composure, but her heart still beat wild in her chest.
She descended the stairs with practiced grace, the embroidered hem of her coat catching the breeze. Waiting at the bottom, Elias straightened his posture, preparing to greet her in the manner expected of royals. But his ice-blue eyes betrayed his excitement, sparkling with mischief as he extended a formal hand.
“Välkommen tillbaka till Nordhaven, Ers Kungliga Höghet,” he said, his voice steady despite the corners of his lips twitching with warmth. Then, just barely audible as he stepped closer, he murmured, “Min blå fjäril.”
“Welcome back to Nordhaven, Your Royal Highness,” he added, his tone once again formal, though his gaze lingered on hers for a heartbeat longer than protocol allowed.
Veronica hesitated just a fraction before accepting his hand, knowing full well that what she wanted was not a reserved handshake, but the embrace of the man she loved. Her fingers met his in a carefully measured touch, and for a fleeting moment, their hands lingered. The official courtiers stood at attention, a watchful audience of duty and tradition—but neither could quite ignore the electricity between them.
As their formal greeting ended, Elias leaned in ever so slightly, whispering, “That was excruciating. You have no idea how much I wanted to kiss you instead.”
Veronica inhaled sharply, feeling the weight of his words settle between them. “You’re not the only one,” she murmured, though the warmth in her voice betrayed her amusement.
“Ooh princess, do I hear encouragement for me to break the pesky rigid rules?”
“You’re impossible. Quit whispering, it’s not proper.”
They both knew the rules. Public displays of affection were strictly discouraged between royals, especially those not yet married. Still, the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the way their breath hitched in close proximity—none of it could be helped.
Once they were seated inside the limousine, with no attendants or guards accompanying them, the tension simmered quietly before bursting through the surface. Elias shifted closer, his hand brushing against Veronica’s, and when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in without hesitation. Their lips met in a deep, unspoken promise of what they couldn’t share in the public eye. The intimacy was raw and unguarded, broken only by the abrupt jolt of the vehicle slowing as they arrived at Iverstad Palace.
The doors opened, and the chill of the Nordhaven air rushed in, but Elias and Veronica didn’t immediately separate. Their foreheads touched as Veronica stifled a laugh. “We should probably look like royals now.”
Elias grinned, his voice low. “The palace won’t mind.”
Still, they composed themselves, slipping effortlessly back into their poised, regal exteriors as the palace staff welcomed them with deep bows.
The Revelation in Solkrona Park
The late morning sun bathed Solkrona Park in a golden glow, illuminating the intricately kept pathways and blooming citrus trees. A soft breeze carried the distant scent of wildflowers from the far edge of the grounds, and birds perched lazily in the branches overhead. It was a picture-perfect day—the kind that invited serene walks and whispered conversations.
Crown Prince Elias led Princess Veronica through the park, their steps unhurried, the warmth of the sun contrasting sharply with what he was about to tell her.
“This place,” Elias mused, gesturing toward the meticulously landscaped paths glistening under the rain, “was supposedly deemed the sunniest spot in all of Nordhaven.” He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a smirk as he met her gaze. “Though I suppose that’s not exactly verifiable, considering—who in their right mind comes to a park in the pouring rain?” His tone held just enough dry humor to draw out the irony, though the twinkle in his eyes betrayed the warmth beneath his words.
Veronica giggled softly, adjusting the lace cuffs of her coat. “I suppose you do have a point.”
Elias nodded, his smile lingering—but something in his gaze shifted, his usual carefree demeanor dimming just slightly. “It’s also one of the most heavily patrolled places in the kingdom.”
That caught her attention. Veronica glanced around, scanning the neat pathways and garden benches, her eyes flicking toward distant uniformed guards stationed at the park’s entry points.
“Is it dangerous?” she asked, her voice hushed.
He leaned in, his breath brushing against the delicate curve of her ear. “Of course not, this is Nordhaven, people here think stealing a pack of gum makes them a high-level criminal. There is a joke among the locals that when you work for the Nordhaven police department you can’t ever retire, as the entire career is one big retirement. No, it’s safe, but there’s a rumor,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing, “that uh, well … you know, doing something scandalous in this park brings good luck. You know, the kind of scandalous thing I mean?” he wiggled his eyebrows.
“Oh my God, not you with that again. Do you not ever think of anything other than … that?”
“I am a healthy, straight, nineteen-year-old man. So, no, literally the only thing I ever think about.” He grinned, making her laugh. Then he got more serious.
“Things change, Vero. The rumor also says that many a soldier took their lady friend here to do this for good luck before going into war. Far as I know, all of those made it back.”
Veronica snapped back, swatting his arm playfully. “Cute story, too bad for you that you are not going to war, huh? You joined the royal military, that’s all. I know literally dozens of royal men who have done that, including my brother. None of it warrants ‘emergency nookie’. Nice try.”
Elias laughed, shaking his head before slipping his hands into his coat pockets. But then, he turned serious—a weight settling into his stance.
Then, as they neared a stone fountain, he slowed his steps. “That’s actually why I brought you here today. I wanted to talk to you about something rather important and needed a good way to lead up to it,” he said, voice lower, firmer.
Veronica picked up on the change instantly, tilting her head. “Sounds serious.”
“It is. Very serious, actually.” He turned toward her, ice-blue eyes holding something unreadable. “I’m being deployed.”
She rolled her eyes, waving him off. “You mean you’re going to sit in a comfortable war room while real soldiers fight?” She scoffed. “Come now, Eli. I know how it works. William did it too. Our Papa before him. You wear the uniform, attend dull strategy meetings, shake hands with commanding officers, and return home when you bided your time.”
His smirk faded completely.
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
Something about the way he said it—unflinching, unwavering, final—made the warmth of the sun feel suddenly inadequate.
She blinked, trying to process. “You’re actually going? Into battle?”
Elias nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Yes. The Emberfall War.”
Veronica’s stomach dropped.
“Are you quite insane?” she hissed, stepping closer, gripping his arm. “You can’t risk that—you’re the heir to the throne! Your father would NEVER allow that!”
Elias let out a breath, tilting his head slightly. “My father can’t stop it. I am nineteen. I signed up for it voluntarily. Overriding this would mean he would have to declare martial law, and there is no reason for it. He would be thrilled knowing how deeply you care about our succession line remaining intact, Princess. Sounded almost like him, except he of course said all that in Norsk.”
“Don’t be silly.” Her fingers tightened around his sleeve, panic creeping into her voice. “What about me? Eli…”
His gaze softened, but he didn’t waver. “You’re worried?”
Veronica’s voice rang through the park, sharp with frustration, emotion spilling over with every word. “Of course I am! Why do you always do this? Every time I turn around, you’ve had some sort of accident or near miss! Broken bones, buried under an avalanche, lost at sea because you refuse to sail a yacht like a normal person, lost near a volcano for days, missing after a jungle treasure hunt… What does someone like you need a treasure for?! ARGH! And now a war?! You cannot be such an adrenaline junkie to warrant all that!” Her words were fast, heated, tumbling out one after another. But then—her breath hitched. The last part came quieter, unsteady.
“Ever thought what that puts your family through?” Her throat tightened, her voice dropping even lower, barely above a whisper now—raw, vulnerable. “What it puts me through?”
Elias sighed, kicking absently at a stray leaf, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. “Well, look at the bright side, Princess. If I don’t come back, you can start over—find someone less agitating and aggravating than me.”
Before Veronica could respond, her voice trembling with the weight of her emotions, a subtle shift rippled through the air. The moment those words left Elias’ lips—casual, dismissive, cruel in their carelessness—something in her snapped.
Without thinking, she shoved him, hard, palms pressing against his chest. It wasn’t enough to send him stumbling, but it was enough to make her point.
The reaction was instantaneous.
From the shadows of the park, her Henfordian guard stepped forward, his body tense, hand hovering near his holster—not pulling a weapon, but ready to intervene. Across the way, one of Nordhaven’s royal guards mirrored the movement, exchanging a sharp glance with his counterpart.
The tension cut through the crisp sunny air like a blade, a silent warning from the trained protectors sworn to safeguard their royals. But Elias didn’t flinch.
Instead, as soon as Veronica’s hands hit his chest, as soon as he saw the tears in her eyes, he grabbed her wrist gently, catching her hand before she could pull away. He didn’t scold her, didn’t tease, didn’t provoke. Then he did something completely unexpected—he brought her hand to his lips.
The kiss was light, barely more than a whisper against her skin, but the meaning was deafening. A silent apology. A quiet promise. An acknowledgment that he knew exactly why she was angry—because she loved him. Because she was terrified.
Veronica froze, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. For a moment, the world held still, caught between anger and heartbreak, between fear and love.
Elias exhaled softly, then—without looking away from her—lifted his free hand, waving dismissively at the guards. His tone was calm, effortlessly steady, yet threaded with dry humor.
“Relax, gentlemen,” he muttered. “It’s just my fiancée kindly reminding me I’m a hazard to humanity and myself.”
The guards hesitated, their eyes flicking between the royals, unsure whether to fully stand down. Tension hung in the air, still fragile, still unspoken.
Then, Veronica turned sharply, narrowing her tear-filled eyes at her Henfordian guard, and with a decisive nod, she announced:
“Yes, everything is fine, I just happen to be betrothed to a royal idiot. No gun or saber in the world can fix his special kind of stupid!”
Elias let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. The guards exchanged glances. Measured. Thoughtful. And finally, after a silent judgment, they stepped back, settling into their posts once more.
Veronica’s glare softened, her frustration giving way to exasperated amusement. “You’re impossible. Absolutely insufferable. Everything about you is just so … so …. argh,” she muttered, wiping at her eyes.
Elias shrugged, his smirk returning faintly. “So you keep telling me.”
Her breath hitched. “Why do something so reckless? Help me understand.”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before finally speaking.
“Because I refuse to be the kind of king who wears a uniform he hasn’t earned.” He kept his voice steady, unwavering, but there was something deeply personal in his tone now. “My father has ruled this kingdom long enough, he told me. He is tired of it, my mother is tired of it. The moment he thinks I’m ready, he’ll step down. And then it’s all mine—the weight, the duty, the expectations. I will be a very young king, but I will be a good one.”
Elias’ jaw tightened; his eyes dark with conviction. “Letting my parents finally breathe after decades of service is the least I can do. But if I’m going to lead, if I’m going to wear the uniform, I need to know I deserve it. I don’t want to be another pretty royally bred face with a shiny crown. I want to be a true leader. Worthy.”
Veronica’s brow furrowed, frustration pushing into every line of her face. “That doesn’t mean you have to throw yourself into a war zone! My father is a great king—respected, admired, a master of diplomacy and strategy—and he’s never set foot on a battlefield! There are dozens of ways to be a leader that don’t involve getting shot at!”
Elias sighed, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets, his stance steady but weary. “Normally, I’d agree. But our situation is different. Henfordshire is an island—your navy sees trouble coming from every side before it can reach your borders. Nordhaven isn’t that lucky. We swore to defend Aldenmark against Vasterland’s invasion, and if we abandon them, it’s not just our honor at stake—it’s our entire place in the world.
If Aldenmark wins, absorbs Vasterland, they’ll double in size overnight. And when that happens—tell me, Princess, who do you think they’ll come after next? That’s right, Nordhaven. You think they’d keep my family on the throne once Nordhaven is nothing but a conquest? I’d rather present you with a kingdom that got a little bigger after we absorbed them—if only to keep the peace. Sounds better than attempt to move in with you, my entire family in tow, exiled. Who would want that kind of fiancé?”
Veronica’s throat went dry. She knew about the war, of course—everyone did—but she had never imagined Elias would take up arms for it himself.
She whispered, her voice threading between fear and defiance, “Vasterland doesn’t play fair, Eli. Even Papa had Lord John sent supplies, only to have our aid convoys destroyed and our men captured. A steep price. The only reason Papa got involved at all in a war we have nothing to do with, is because your father sought help, and Windenburg answered. We are allied to both, so we had no choice. And now my own fiancé throws his life at it when career soldiers are overwhelmed?”
Elias nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, his voice calm—far too calm for what he was saying. “I know. They’ve already started shifting their tactics, pushing Aldenmark’s forces back into the mountains. Nordhaven sent reinforcements, but it won’t be enough unless we actually join the fight. I am not a stellar soldier, I know that too, but I am a rather decent strategist, which is what they need, I think. Always easier to judge a situation if you can see it.”
Veronica’s fingers curled into a fist, resisting the urge to shake some sense into him. “So what, you think this is your duty? You think you’ll set an example? In case you did not hear me, we have sent career military there and they are now prisoners of war. Henfordshire has not been in any wars in over a century, for good reason, as we distance ourselves for such violence. Instead my father and William had to visit crying families lying to them that they will bring their sons, husbands, brothers, fathers back home safely, a promise they don’t know if they can keep. This is no joke Eli, it’s a death sentence for people like us. We were raised to be proper and know every single rule about how to walk, talk, eat, speak. We’re not soldiers!”
Elias held her gaze, his own unwavering. “Well, I will have put that theory to the test. No offense, but kinda hoping you won’t mind being wrong in this instance. Either way, no getting out of this for me, or I would be the deserter king one day.”
She felt her chest tighten. “I hate this.”
Elias turned to her fully, a softness creeping into his gaze, as if he knew exactly how much this hurt her. But still, he was firm.
This was his choice. His path. His future.
And nothing she said would change it.
But maybe, just maybe, she could give him something to hold on to before he left.
A Stolen Evening
Throughout dinner, Veronica couldn’t help but steal glances at Elias, every glance exchanged with a flicker of mischief that made her pulse race. When dessert was served and the family’s attention turned to a lively debate about diplomacy, Veronica seized her chance. With the softest nudge beneath the table, her foot tapped his, drawing his attention. She leaned slightly forward, her lips barely moving as she whispered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear: “Solkrona Park. Midnight. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Later, the palace was hushed now, its grand halls bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through towering windows. Veronica stood by her chamber door, listening intently as the last of her attendants’ footsteps faded down the corridor. She had dismissed them with a practiced air of royal fatigue, claiming jetlag and a need for solitude. But now, her heart raced with anticipation.
She slipped into her fitted wool coat, the fabric snug against her shoulders, adjusting the buttons with deft fingers, then pocketed her phone. The corridors were dimly lit, the flicker of wall sconces casting long shadows. She moved with purpose, her steps light and deliberate. During her many visits to Nordhaven, Elias had shared his secrets—how to slip out unnoticed, when the guards changed shifts, which doors were unwatched during patrols, and where the security cameras were positioned. She had memorized every detail.
Her breath hitched as she approached an unguarded side door. The cold metal of the handle sent a shiver through her fingers as she pushed it open, stepping into the crisp night air. The world outside was hushed, the stillness broken only by the faint hum of city lights on the horizon.
She moved swiftly down the quiet, cobblestone-paved streets that stretched between the palace grounds and Solkrona Park. The storefronts were dark, the occasional warm glow from a café’s window casting soft reflections onto the sidewalk. A few late-night pedestrians ambled along—none paying her any mind—as she kept her pace steady.
The park was just 800 meters away, a short walk according to her GPS. The streetlights illuminated her path, their glow flickering slightly in the crisp air. Her heart pounded—not just from the thrill of sneaking out, but from the uncertainty of what awaited her.
When she reached the park’s entrance, she paused, scanning the shadows. No Elias. Her pulse quickened, a mix of disappointment and unease. Had he changed his mind? Was this a mistake?
Then, the distant purr of a motorcycle shattered the silence. She turned, her breath catching as Elias appeared, his blond hair tousled by the ride, the soft glow of the headlights painting his features in gold. He pulled up beside her, dismounting with a grin that was equal parts mischief and charm.
“Had to pick up something important,” he said, his voice low and teasing.
Veronica arched a brow, her lips curving into a skeptical smile. “And what might that be?”
Instead of answering, Elias took Veronica’s hand, his grip warm and steady as he led her toward a hidden arch draped in ivy. She followed without question, the faint chill of the evening growing sharper as they descended the narrow staircase carved from centuries-old stone. At the base, signs in both Norsk and English pointed to the public restrooms, but Elias bypassed them entirely. Instead, he pushed open an unmarked wooden door, revealing a space she hadn’t imagined.
A Night to Remember
When Elias led her down the narrow stone staircase, past the sign marking the public restrooms, she had braced herself for something cold, damp, and uninviting. But the moment he pushed open the unmarked wooden door, all those expectations dissolved. Candlelight flickered against rough stone walls, casting a golden glow over the carefully scattered rose petals, the plush cushions and blankets arranged in a corner, and a spread of Nordhaven delicacies waiting on a low wooden table—pastries, fruit, champagne, and honeyed bread, simple but thoughtful. It smelled of wax and flowers, mixed with the faint sweetness of the midnight feast he’d prepared.
Veronica exhaled in awe, the warmth wrapping around her like an embrace. “What is this place? And you did all this?”
Elias leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, his ice-blue eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of having completely surprised her. “It’s one of the perks of being at the helm of this kingdom, few places I can’t gain access to. This is a storage room for supplies for events here at the park, which doesn’t sound very romantic, but I did my best with what I had to work with. You think I’d invite you for a secret rendezvous and not make it worth your while? How lame would that be?”
Veronica let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she unfastened the top button of her coat. “I invited you, dear Sir. Also: you’re impossible.”
Elias pushed off the wall, stepping closer with that signature smirk that always spelled trouble. “So you keep telling me. And yes, you most certainly did invite me. How brazen of you.”
Veronica lifted her chin, feigning regal poise, though the amused glimmer in her eyes betrayed her. “Brazen, am I? Right. You do it, and it’s cool. I do it and suddenly it’s brazen? I believe it was you who insisted on making this an adventure, by taking me here to drop the bomb about your active deployment into war – pun fully intended.”
Elias pushed off the wall, his smirk deepening as he closed the small distance between them. “Ah, but you played right into my hands, didn’t you?” His voice dipped just enough to send a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Tell me, Princess, do you regret inviting me yet? If you thought me pushy before, what do you think I would be now?”
Veronica exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Regret? No. Though I do wonder if I’ll come to regret indulging you.”
He cocked his head, his expression both intrigued and playful. “A dangerous statement. Might I ask how far you’re willing to indulge me?”
She arched a delicate brow, refusing to let him win this little game. “That depends entirely on your behavior.”
Elias chuckled, reaching for the bottle of champagne on the low wooden table, pouring them both a glass. He held one out to her, his gaze locked with hers. “Then consider this a toast—to reckless adventures, to brazen invitations, and to the Princess who never fails to surprise me.”
Veronica accepted the glass, tilting it slightly toward him before taking a sip. The notes of the champagne spread through her, much like the warmth of his presence—effortlessly intoxicating.
And in that moment, surrounded by candlelight and stolen hours, their game of teasing words became something softer, something real—a fleeting, precious escape before duty and war came crashing back.
Still taking it all in, Veronica unfastened the buttons of her wool coat, sliding it off and draping it neatly over the back of a chair. Elias did the same, shrugging out of his leather jacket, tossing it onto the armrest with effortless ease. Without the extra layers, the closeness between them felt more intimate, the warmth of the room settling into their skin.
They settled onto the cushions, the tension of the day melting away as they shared whispered conversations, quiet laughter, and mild teasing. The plush seating was inviting, the warmth lulling them into the rare comfort of being alone together. Time seemed to stretch, the outside world fading until only they remained.
Elias reached for a cluster of grapes from the table, plucking one and holding it out to her. “A royal feast deserves royal treatment,” he said, his tone teasing.
Veronica rolled her eyes but leaned forward, taking the grape delicately from his fingers. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, though her smile betrayed her amusement.
“Ridiculous, am I?” Elias countered, popping a grape into his own mouth. “Let’s see how ridiculous you can be.” He plucked another grape and tossed it lightly toward her.
Veronica caught it effortlessly, her grin widening. “Child’s play,” she said, tossing one back at him.
Elias attempted to catch it, but the grape bounced off his chin and landed on the cushions. “Ah, a tragic miss,” he lamented, laughing. “Try again. I demand redemption.”
She obliged, tossing another grape with a playful flick of her wrist. This time, Elias caught it triumphantly, raising his arms in mock victory. “The crowd goes wild!” he declared, his laughter filling the room.
“That’s what I love about you—the humility,” she teased, but he just snickered.
“All I heard was that you love me,” he retorted with a wink, plucking a chocolate-covered strawberry from the platter and holding it out to her like an offering.
Veronica rolled her eyes but leaned forward, taking the strawberry from his hand with a deliberate bite. The rich, sweet flavor melted on her tongue, and she let out a soft, satisfied hum before plucking the remainder from his fingers. “Mmm,” she said, her tone playful as she leaned closer. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
Before Elias could respond, she pressed the remaining half of the strawberry against his lips, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Your turn,” she said sweetly. He obliged, taking the bite with a grin, though his ice-blue eyes lingered on hers with a hint of challenge.
As she settled back against the cushions, she let her fingers linger a moment too long at the edge of the platter, as though considering her next move. Then she spoke, her tone light but curious.
“So,” Veronica began, her lips curving into a sly smile, “what did you have to get so urgently that would warrant making a royal princess wait?”
Elias smirked, leaning back in an unhurried way that only he could manage. “I didn’t make a royal princess wait. I made my fiancée wait, hoping I was worth it.”
“You are always late!” she shot back, narrowing her eyes.
“I’m useless without my entourage keeping me straight,” he teased.
“Quit deflecting. What did you get?”
Elias hesitated, then reached for his leather jacket, sliding it closer before pulling out a small package. He held it out to her, his expression unreadable, watching as her eyes landed on it. Veronica stared, her cheeks flushing as realization dawned. A pack of protection. Before she could speak, he smirked and began to tuck the package back into his pocket.
“Wait…” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, holding on to his wrist.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. She could see the conflict in his gaze—the reckless charm she had fallen for, but beneath that, something deeper. Something raw. Something real. The weight of everything—the war, the uncertainty, the fleeting time they had—pressed down on them both.
“Don’t put them away,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I just need to…” She grabbed her champagne flute, downing its contents in one decidedly unroyal gulp. Before she could reach for the bottle, Elias stopped her, his hand gentle, firm, knowing as he pulled the bottle from her hand, recorked it and set it aside, next to the condom package.
“Not like this,” he said, his voice low and steady, but now lacking the teasing edge it had before. “I don’t want our first time to be drunk and hazy. Forget it. It was a stupid idea—just a man panicking about his big mouth and thirst for adventure.”
Her breath caught. The fire inside her, the part of her that craved more than rules and duty, flared in protest. “You’re scared,” she whispered.
Elias exhaled, a short laugh, but it held no humor. “Of course I’m scared. It’s a war.”
“Then don’t go,” she pleaded, her voice breaking as she gripped his sleeve. “Eli, please. I’ll do anything if you stay. Anything you want. I’ll…” Her words stumbled, the weight of them choking in her throat. “I’ll have any kind of sex imaginable with you. All day long if you want. Any sort of fantasy you want, I’ll do it. Anything. Just please -please- don’t do this!”
Elias stilled, his fingers tightening slightly where they had rested at her waist. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though grounding himself in the moment. He reached for her, his hands steady as he guided her closer, until she was seated in his lap, her legs tucked to the side, her weight resting lightly against him. The warmth of the room enveloped them, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of his embrace. Elias held her securely, his arms wrapping around her as though shielding her from the world outside. Veronica’s breath hitched, her heart pounding as she felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.
When he kissed her, it was not desperate, not reckless, but soft, unhurried—full of everything he couldn’t say aloud. His lips lingered against hers, speaking in a language of tenderness and restraint, of love that ran deeper than impulse.
As he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “No,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, we won’t do that. Not now. But keep that promise in mind—it gives me something to come back for. I always cash in on promises made to me. So, say it. Say those words, and I’ll come back home to collect on them.”
Veronica cupped his face in her hands, her tears spilling freely now, her heart pounding with an ache she couldn’t contain. “I will do anything for you and with you, if you come back to me. Anything. I will be the sexiest, raunchiest, bawdiest, craziest—and whatever other adjectives do it for a man like you—lover imaginable. Just… just come back safely.”
Elias blinked, then let out a short laugh, his voice warm and teasing despite the weight of the moment. “Good grief, do I really come across as such a sex fiend? Yikes!”
Veronica’s lips trembled, caught between a sob and a laugh. “According to you, in your own words, that is all you think about. Look, I don’t know what you want, Elias, but whatever it is, it’ll be waiting for you if you come home from that stupid war!”
His expression softened, the humor fading as he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her like a shield against the world. They clung to each other, their embrace so tight it felt as though nothing—not duty, not war, not even time—could pull them apart. The candles flickered softly, their golden light casting shifting shadows across the stone walls, but neither noticed.
And in that moment, the bad boy prince revealed the depth of his love—not through reckless charm, but through the quiet strength of a man who would sacrifice everything to protect the woman he loved. He had hoped for something impulsive, something wild, but in the end, his respect for her, his love for her, was far greater than his own desires.
Veronica’s tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would Elias’. He held her close, his arms wrapped around her, grounding them both. The weight of everything—the war, the uncertainty, the things left unsaid—pressed against them, raw and unrelenting.
Eventually, Elias pulled back, his red-rimmed eyes glistening as he swiped at them with his sleeve. “Alright,” he said, his voice hoarse but laced with a weak chuckle. “What do I have to do to make sure you never tell anyone about me sobbing like a baby?”
Without missing a beat, Veronica grabbed a honeyed pastry from the table and stuffed it into his mouth, muffling any further protests. “Eat,” she commanded, reaching for the champagne bottle. She poured two glasses, filling them to the brim with an unroyally generous hand, and handed one to him as he laughed through his sadness, still chewing the pastry.
As she passed him his glass, her expression turned dead serious. “Of course I won’t breathe a word about this. I have to marry you—how embarrassing would that be for me?”
Elias nearly choked on his drink, his laughter bubbling up again, this time lighter, freer. The sound filled the room, mingling with hers, as the weight of the moment lifted just enough for them to breathe again.
They raised their glasses, the rims clinking softly in the candlelight. “To secrets,” Elias said, his voice still thick with emotion but laced with a playful edge. “And to the woman who holds all of mine.”
“To the man who makes keeping them a full-time job,” Veronica replied, her lips curving into a smile as she took a sip.
Before she could lower her glass, Elias leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that was soft, unhurried, and full of unspoken promises. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that demanded anything—it simply gave, grounding them both in the fleeting moment of peace they’d carved out together.
When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “You know what’s gonna happen?” he murmured against her hair, his voice hoarse but full of mischief. “I’m gonna win this goddamn war, just like they’ll be writing in history books.”
Veronica let out a broken laugh between sobs, shaking her head. “Oh, for heaven’s sake—”
“No, listen!” He pulled back slightly, his eyes bright with wild ideas, deliberately absurd, but somehow comforting. “I’ll win, right? I’ll be a national hero. The entire world will be watching as I step off that military plane, all the cameras flashing, all the reporters waiting for my big speech.”
Her lips trembled, but she let herself listen, let him pull her into his fantasy.
“And do you know what my first action will be?” He gave a slow, dramatic smirk, despite his red-rimmed eyes. “Forget royal protocol—I’ll just grab you, right there, in front of everyone. Kiss you so hard that everyone in the surrounding ZIP Codes will be pregnant from that kiss. Male and female!”
Veronica snorted, giggling through her own tears, pushing lightly at his chest. “You’re terrible.”
“And then!” Elias pressed on, wiping the wetness from his face with the back of his hand. “I’ll pick you up. Fireman-style. Carry you all the way from the airfield to the palace, no stops.”
“That is several miles, Eli.”
He scoffed, grinning for the first time in hours. “Woman, I just won a whole damn war—I can do anything.”
Veronica shook her head, laughing, but the laughter was watery, tangled with grief, tangled with the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, this impossible dream could become real.
Elias’ voice dropped slightly, softer now, but still warm with that unshakable confidence she loved.
“So there I go, carrying you all the way to my royal chambers, and then—” He smirked, deliberately dragging out the pause, watching her eyes widen. “Then, we’ll do what we were gonna do here, but proper.”
Veronica groaned, burying her face against his shoulder. “Eli, oh my God—”
He chuckled, holding her tighter. “I’m serious. Days, Princess. Days of—well, you know. Tantric levels of carnal pleasure like the world has never seen.”
“I should hope nobody would see that!”
“They they might. It will be so trantric, revolutionary and incredible, they may well want to broadcast it live across the world. Maybe even into outer space for the aliens to realize we are way more advanced than they thought.”
Her laughter turned into a half-sob, her body shaking as she clung to him. “You are completely insane! And what about food? And showers? And bathroom breaks? None for days? How?”
Elias rolled his eyes, mock-offended. “Quit interrupting my fantasy, Princess, with your silly realism!”
Her giggles hiccupped between the waves of emotion, a rare, fragile moment where sadness and joy existed together.
“And anyway,” Elias continued, lowering his voice slightly, his fingers threading gently into her hair, “after you can’t and won’t go any more, you get hauled off to a spa for pampering. And then? You get ready for our wedding—the royal event to end all royal events—at Sankt Havskrona Kirke. The place where every Gyllenborg was married, christened, and buried.”
“Okay, fine. If that gets you to come back home, then sure, we’ll do all that and then some.”
Veronica’s grip on him tightened, and for a long time, neither spoke.
The candles flickered softly around them, the light casting gentle gold over their entwined figures, but neither noticed.
And through the heartbreak, through the longing, through the absurdity of his fantasies, Elias was doing the only thing he could do—making her a promise.
A ridiculous, over-the-top, utterly impossible promise.
But he’d keep it.
Because he had to.
Promises
The private breakfast room was alive with the comforting warmth of a crisp autumn morning. Sunlight poured through tall windows, casting golden hues over the wood-paneled walls and polished silverware. The scent of freshly baked bread and honeyed tea wafted in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation.
At the head of the table, King Maximilian and Queen Aria-Grace sat side by side, their presence commanding yet softened by the familiarity of family. Crown Prince William, the eldest of their children, was deep in conversation with his wife, Princess Wilhelmina, who balanced Prince James, their youngest, on her lap while offering bites of breakfast to Crown Princess Josephine, perched happily in her father’s arms.
Josie giggled, tapping her tiny hands against the smooth wood of the table, while Jamie, barely a year old, mimicked her sounds with a delighted shriek. Mina laughed softly, brushing a stray curl from Jamie’s forehead, while William leaned down to whisper something to Josie that earned another gleeful squeal.
The atmosphere was peaceful, lighthearted—a fleeting moment of ordinary happiness, sheltered from the world beyond Cromwell Palace’s walls.
Then a servant entered, carrying a silver tray with a folded letter resting atop it. He approached Princess Veronica, who sat quietly, her posture poised even as curiosity flickered in her gaze.
King Maximilian chuckled as the tray was set before her. “Oh boy, here we go again. Say goodbye to Vero for the day as she runs off to dwell on the warm words of Prince Eli.”
William smirked, adjusting Josie in his hold. “Don’t get papercuts from smooching the letter—again!”
Veronica stuck her tongue out at her brother, giggling as she reached for the envelope.
Queen Aria-Grace smiled warmly. “Honey, why don’t you read it here? That way, you can update us on his wellbeing.”
Mina grinned, lightly bouncing Jamie in her arms. “Oh yes, and read us the good parts too. All the juicy things, I want to hear them.”
With a playful smirk, Veronica picked up a butterknife, using it to carefully open the letter. But as soon as her eyes scanned the first line, the amusement drained from her face.
Her breath hitched.
Her expression froze—then went pale.
The silverware in her hand slipped, clattering onto the porcelain plate as her grip faltered.
William’s sharp eyes caught the change in her demeanor instantly. His playful smirk disappeared, replaced by urgent concern as he quickly handed Josie to their mother and stepped toward Veronica’s seat.
“Vero?” Queen Aria-Grace leaned forward, her warm features clouded with worry.
Veronica rose unsteadily, her fingers trembling and her chest tightening as if the very air around her had thickened. Sensing her faltering, William quickened his pace, reaching her just as her legs gave way. He caught her firmly, his arms steadying her before she could crumple to the floor. Without hesitation, he scooped her up, cradling her as he carried her across the room and gently laid her down on the nearby chaise.
King Maximilian sprang to his feet, his voice commanding as he shouted, “Fetch the physician—now!”
At the same moment, Queen Aria-Grace jumped up as well, her gaze darting to the children. “Nanny!” she called urgently, and the nanny, who had been on standby nearby, came rushing into the room. Without hesitation, she reached for the children. Josie, sensing the unease, burst into frightened sobs, while Jamie clung to Mina, wailing. The nanny quickly gathered both children in her arms and hurried out, their cries echoing faintly down the corridor as the doors closed behind her.
With the children removed, all attention shifted to Veronica. The adults stood and rushed to her side, their faces a mixture of fear and concern. William sat at the foot of the chaise, his hand resting lightly on her ankle as though to anchor her, his expression etched with worry.
Moments later, the palace physician arrived, his calm and efficient movements bringing a semblance of order to the chaos. He knelt by Veronica, gently taking her wrist as he checked her pulse. “Her heartbeat is rapid and weak,” he noted, lifting her eyelids to examine her pupils. “She’s pale and cold to the touch—classic signs of clinical shock.” He placed the back of his hand against her forehead, his expression thoughtful as he glanced at her shallow, uneven breathing. “Has she endured something traumatic?” he asked, his tone calm but probing, as he retrieved a small vial and syringe from his bag.
Before anyone could respond, King Maximilian’s gaze fell to the fallen letter on the floor. His brows knit together as realization dawned. He bent down slowly, his hand steady despite the tension radiating from him, and picked up the letter. His expression darkened as his eyes scanned the page, the weight of the words settling heavily on his shoulders.
“I’d say,” the King said, his voice tight with emotion as he held the paper firmly, “this might qualify.” He took a sharp breath before reading aloud, his words deliberate and heavy. “It is with deep regret that I must inform you that His Royal Majesty, Crown Prince Elias Gyllenborg of Nordhaven is MIA. He was last seen leading a unit during a strategic retreat near the border, but contact was lost amid heavy enemy fire. His current whereabouts remain unknown.”
As the King’s voice filled the room, a collective silence fell over the family, the weight of the news sinking into the air like lead. King Maximilian’s gaze lifted, his eyes meeting his wife’s across the room. Queen Aria-Grace’s lips pressed together as she fought to maintain composure, but the unspoken worry in their shared look was palpable—a silent reflection of their fear for their beloved daughter and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
William’s expression, etched with concern, flicked to his sister, then to the King, as though searching for any semblance of reassurance. Mina, his wife, moved quietly to his side, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The subtle gesture, a silent exchange of strength and support, grounded him in the moment as the room remained shrouded in heavy tension.
Meanwhile, the physician, having prepared the injection, turned back to Veronica. “This is a mild sedative,” he explained, his voice low and steady as he administered the medication with practiced precision. “It will help stabilize her and calm her body’s response.”
Veronica stirred weakly as the sedative began to take effect. Her lips moved in broken murmurs, fragments of words slipping through. “He promised… promised…” Her voice cracked, and she dissolved into sobs, burying her face in her mother’s embrace. Queen Aria-Grace cradled her daughter tightly, her hand stroking Veronica’s hair in soothing motions, though her own composure was visibly strained.
The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by Veronica’s muffled sobs. Maximilian straightened, exchanging a solemn look with his son. “We must call King Sven immediately,” he said, his tone resolute. “He’ll need our support.”
William nodded, his jaw set in determination. “Coming, Papa.”
As father and son moved purposefully toward the door, the atmosphere in the room shifted—steeled by a grim resolve but weighted by uncertainty. Veronica’s quiet sobs filled the space, a haunting reminder of the stakes they now faced. Despite the golden walls of the palace, the air felt cold, heavy with the shadow of war and a promise yet unfulfilled.
To Be Continued
EchoesOfLegacy 