His Forbidden Princess (Dirty Royals Book 3)

by Vivian Wood

  “I think we should have some rules, just in case.”

  She rolls her eyes, turning sideways to look at her slight frame in the mirror. When she doesn’t disagree, I clear my throat and continue.

  “No touching,” I say, ticking items off on my fingers. “No talking about sensitive topics. No questions about my private life. And no discussion of anything that you wouldn’t talk to the Queen Mother about.”

  Annika turns to me with a glare. “Don’t tell me what I can or cannot do, Erik. I’m a part of the royal family. Like it or not, you technically work for me.”

  I huff out a laugh. “I work for your brother, not you. And if you have a problem with any of my conditions, you can go tell someone about it. Anyone, really. I’d love to see the look on your grandmother’s face when you tell her that you’re upset because you can’t ask me about who I’ve fucked lately.”

  Her brows rise at that. “Who have you slept with? It must’ve been a while ago. Because you were so needy back there on the beach…”

  “I was drunk!” I thunder. The words burst forth, so vehement and sudden and loud that Annika widens her eyes and goes still.

  My words aren’t a good excuse; alcohol is never a decent reason for anything. If anyone should know that, it’s me. But I think I’ve wanted to shout at her for a good long while now.

  Sadly, it’s not very satisfying. Especially not when I can see that she’s a little shaken by my tone.

  “Annika,” I say, shaking my head and looking off toward the window. “Jesus. You bring out the worst in me, you know that?”

  She bites her lip and shrugs a single shoulder, looking very young all the sudden. “No.”

  I can’t stand her sudden vulnerability, how it lurks behind her fullness and bratty attitude. It’s a sword sharp enough to shred me into a million tiny ribbons.

  “Stop it,” I grit out.

  She looks at me sharply. “Stop what?”

  “That little innocent, wide-eyed ingenue thing you’re doing. It’s not working on me.”

  Her brow furrows. “What? I’m not doing anything.”

  “Maybe you’re not trying, but you definitely are,” I grate. My fists clench. “And it’s not playing fair, okay? Just… behave yourself.”

  Her eyes narrow. Her expression cools. “So, you are just like everyone else, then. You make assumptions about my behavior. And then when my actions don’t line up perfectly, you shake your finger at me and scold me.” She lifts her head, tossing her hair back. “I’m done with that. I’ve had plenty of that in my life already. So, if you don’t mind, get the hell out of my rooms. I’ll meet you by the limousine in two hours.”

  She turns and marches to the doorway that leads to her bedroom. She opens it and slams it after herself hard enough that a painting shifts on the wall, skewing slightly.

  I glare after her, shaking my head as I exit the room into the hallway.

  Annika is a mess. One minute she’s joking, the next she’s on the verge of tears. Defiant, then charming, and then vulnerable. How am I supposed to handle someone like that?

  I won’t be drawn into her insane world of high drama and petty bullshit, that’s for sure. With that reaffirmed in my mind, I head downstairs to my office to brood in peace.

  7

  Annika

  As I sit down in the very front row of the Greta von Grissel fashion show, I smile wanly at the big names that are present to support the show. I suck on my hard candy discreetly and try not to wonder how some of the people around me get so thin. A couple of actresses, a celebrity blogger, a fairly famous rocker… they’re all stuffed around me, arranged like dolls for the cameras.

  One of the actresses shyly asks me for a selfie. I smile and comply, not because I’m particularly in the mood. But because it’s expected of the princess of Denmark.

  I’m playing the part, being the perfect Danish princess. Short black velvet dress, sky high black heels, and a tiara to top it all off.

  Normally I would relish a Grissel fashion show. After all, being here is paying tribute to my primary hobby. Change the world through using fashion to raise money for charitable causes. But the reason I’m in a sour mood is heading my way… and he looks like he just walked off the pages of a fashion magazine.

  Tall, elegant, with sandy-colored hair and those cutting green-brown eyes. He’s dressed simply but stylishly in a slim cut navy wool suit, a pristine white shirt, a crisp black tie, and spit-shined black leather Oxford shoes.

  I watch the crowd notice him as he approaches me. The gorgeous women attending this fashion show arch their eyebrows and aim their pouts at him. The handsome men cock their heads and wonder who he is.

  And Erik doesn’t even know that he’s being measured. His gaze locks on to me and narrows a little. Even from a distance, he appears brooding.

  The lights start to dim. Behind Erik, the runway is lit while the area given over to the guests darkens. He walks right up to me, looking at the people carefully arranged around me on the white marble bench.

  “Do you mind if I move you down?” he asks the young actress seated beside me.

  She flushes prettily. “Ja, ja. Let’s see…”

  My mouth thins. She stands up and motions to everybody to move down. My gaze slides to the event planner, who is staring at us as though we’ve just ruined her life.

  Erik sits down beside me. “Your highness,” he says, nodding to me.

  I narrow my eyes at him and adjust my dress. I continue to smile as there are camera flashes about every five seconds. But inside, I’m seriously pissed off at Erik. He is definitely high up on my shit list for the things he said yesterday.

  I freeze him out, turning ever so slightly away from him. He casts a skeptical glance over me.

  Then I hear the actress on his other side introduce herself in a whisper. I force myself to continue smiling and lean forward so that I can see her around Erik.

  “He’s in trouble,” I say, smiling brightly. “Please don’t talk to him.”

  The starlet’s eyes go wide but she just nods. Erik shoots me a glare. But before he can say anything, the music starts blaring.

  He shifts in his seat, watching as the models begin to work their way down the runway. I keep up my end of the bargain, applauding politely at every single model.

  Privately, I’m not paying a single bit of attention to what’s going down the runway in front of my face. But Grissel doesn’t need to know that. And I still want her to make me ten designer dresses for next season…

  A few minutes into the fashion show, Erik shifts his weight, pressing his thigh up against mine. My eyes widen just a bit.

  It’s probably an unknowing move on his part, but holy hell. The warmth of his big body radiates, heating my exposed skin.

  I look down at where our bodies are pressed together, distracted beyond reason. Why is this the most erotic thing that’s happened to me all week?

  I stare at the spot where we touch. For some odd reason, all I can think of just now is Erik moving his hand to my thigh and inching up my dress.

  I lick my suddenly parched lips, a rush of memory hitting me. Now I can remember exactly why I wanted him to be the one to take my virginity.

  Suddenly the house lights go up. Everyone around my is rising and applauding Greta von Grissel, who traipses down the runway looking like a mythical goddess in a flowing dress of her own design.

  I rise and clap too, wondering where the last twenty minutes went. Did I really spend them fixating on how good Erik’s thigh felt when it was pressed against mine?

  The designer bows. The paparazzi swoop in, shooting photos of us famous people.

  “Can we get a shot with you and Greta, your highness?” one man calls.

  “Who is your escort, your highness?” a woman asks.

  I blanch. “Thank you, everyone! I have to go, unfortunately.” I lock eyes with the designer, gesturing to mimic a phone. “Greta, I’ll call you!”

  And with that, I turn, raise
my head, and sweep out of the room. Bodyguards fall in around me once I step outside of the ballroom.

  Another of Erik’s decisions, I bet.

  By the time I climb into the back seat of the limousine, I’m furious. I pluck the tiara from my hair and run my hands through my strands, pulling out bobby pins and wrecking an entire morning’s worth of effort.

  Erik climbs into the backseat beside me, glancing at me as I irritably pull bobby pins from my sinuous mane.

  I avoid his green-brown gaze, my brow hunched as I glare at the seat in front of me.

  “What is wrong with you?” he asks.

  I snort. “Believe it or not, I’m still pretty damn mad at you.”

  He exhales loudly. “Is this about yesterday?”

  I glare at him. “Yes.”

  I gather all the bobby pins into a fat bundle, toying with them.

  Erik grunts. “I’m sorry I said… whatever is making you upset.”

  “Agh!” I moan, sinking down in my seat. “The fact that you don’t even know what made me mad, but you apologized anyway… that makes me angrier.”

  He laughs, a humorless sound. “This is insane. I can’t keep up with you.” He shakes his head. “You know what? I think this is still about how I rejected you on the beach.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. Like I can’t have whatever or whoever I want, whenever it pleases me. I am the only fucking princess of Denmark, you know.”

  He glares at me. “Maybe that isn’t good enough for you. Maybe you have some… some fixation on me. Forbidden fruit and all that.”

  I look at him, shaking my head. “Actually, you aren’t explicitly taboo to me. This whole forbidden fruit thing only really works from your perspective.”

  He narrows his gaze on me, eyeing me up and down. “No. I think you are infatuated with me.”

  I open my mouth, hitting him on the arm repeatedly. “I am not, you pompous… arrogant… jerk! I could never be interested in somebody so self-righteous and buttoned up! Ugh!”

  His lips curve upward. “You seemed to think differently on the beach last week.”

  I turn straight ahead, blushing deeply. “That was just a physical thing. I was there, you were there…” The lie feels a little forced, but I just keep on anyway. “I could never, ever, ever actually feel romantically attracted to you.” I laugh at the very idea of it. “Like… no. Ew.”

  Erik frowns, crossing his arms and adjusting his position against the seat. “It’s nice of you to lay it out there so that even I can understand it, princess.”

  I shoot him an annoyed glance. “I’m just expression my feelings, Erik. You may be hot, but you are essentially a walking suit. Just… there’s no substance to you except doing what you’re told and minding your p’s and q’s.”

  He rolls his eyes, looking at his watch. “I suppose you dream of falling in love with a man every bit as dramatic and shallow as you are. Maybe an actor, hmm?”

  I scoff. “You don’t get to tell me who to date, thank you very much.”

  He smiles and stretches out, dominating the space in the back of the limo. “We should talk about your next engagement, shouldn’t we?”

  I scrunch up my face, still annoyed with him. “The press office lies about how soon I need to be there, remember? It’s so hopelessly stupid. How long of a gap is there on the schedule for today?”

  He gives me a measured look then pulls his phone out and scrolls for a second. “Three hours.”

  Throwing my hands up, I pull a face. “There’s no telling how long of a gap there actually is between events. Everything gets very distorted very quickly.”

  He considers that for a moment. “I can try to talk to someone in the press office about it, if that would please her highness.”

  I look at him sharply. What he said sounded sarcastic, but his words were meant to be helpful… at least, I think so.

  “I thought you told Momse that the press office has blacklisted you.”

  He looks startled for a second. “Oh. Well… I did, but I can still see if I have any pull.” His eyes narrow. “How did you know that?”

  Blushing, I turn my head away and look out the window. “You mentioned it in passing two months ago. I remember everything. It’s…” I think for a moment. “It’s just something that I do.”

  I notice and memorize insignificant details of everyone else’s lives. Well, actually… only the people who really matter to me.

  Does my subconscious believe that Erik is somehow important?

  “I see,” Erik says. He seems to get lost in thought.

  Sinking down a couple more inches, I shade my eyes and pray for our car ride to end.

  8

  Erik

  “Is this a rare glimpse into the master working in his studio?”

  I glance up from a stack of tedious papers to find Stellan leaning in the doorway. Throwing my pen down, I lean back in my chair with a grin.

  “You surfaced for air! Tell me, how is it being suctioned to Margot’s side?”

  His lips twitch. He strolls over and plops down in one of my chairs, running a hand through his dark hair. “Not as tough as being king, it turns out. Especially when my best friend and right-hand man vanishes on some mundane task.”

  I roll my eyes and fold my hands behind my head. “Hey, don’t complain to me about it. Complain to your grandmother. She’s the one that thought that Annika needed such close supervision.”

  Stellan sighs, looking around my tiny office. “We should really get you a better place to work, Erik. This place is too dark and too small for someone of your stature.”

  He’s referring to the fact that I’m taller than everyone I meet, himself included. I shrug.

  “It works for me. I don’t need anything grand. It’s sort of apt, don’t you think?” I glance around my cramped office.

  Stellan squints. “It’s okay for now. But you are going to be titled gentry soon. Isn’t that what my grandmother offered you for dealing with Annika?”

  I stare at Stellan for few moments, studying his face for a hint at what he could possibly mean. He gives me nothing, his face a perfectly blank slate. Finally, I just shrug.

  “Yes, she did offer that. But that’s not the reason I’m minding Annika. Or at least not the only reason. I consider it to be a personal favor to you, Stellan.”

  His brows rise. “Oh?”

  “Your royal highness! There you are.” A red headed young man appears in the doorway, flustered and overexcited. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

  Stellan gives me a look. “Erik, this is Thor. He’s your replacement until after my wedding.”

  Thor raises his head a little. “Your royal highness, you are going to be quite late— “

  “Oh, god. Do calm down, Thor.” Stellan rises, giving me another look. “I’d best be on my way. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t just languishing down here.”

  I give him a tight smile. “Not too much, no.”

  Stellan smirks. “All right, then. I’ll see you soon. Next week, I think we have some sort of family dinner or something?”

  I nod. “You know where to find me in the meantime.”

  Stellan looks around my office once more. “That I do.”

  He heads out of my office, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he rushes off toward his next engagement. After he’s gone, I try to focus on the papers in front of me again.

  But it’s no use. Glancing at my watch, I wonder what my father is doing. It’s been almost a month since I’ve seen him. And Annika is locked in her rooms with her friend Kalindi, whispering and giggling like a couple of little girls.

  With a sigh, I rise. If there is a better time to go visit my father, I don’t know of it.

  It’s the work of a couple of minutes to exit the palace through the gardens. I roll up my sleeves and shove my hands through my hair as I walk. It feels silly but if I walk into my father’s house looking like I have my shit together, my father will lose his tempe
r.

  And he will undoubtedly aim his anger at me.

  The stables are only a few minutes further travel down a narrow, paved path. The birds are chirping in the trees, the sun is high in a perpetually blue sky, it’s about as nice as Denmark can get.

  But as I skirt the stables and head to my father’s cottage, my mood darkens with every step. Bracing myself, I knock on the door of the charming, well-maintained little cottage.

  I hear my father cough first, long and ragged. “Who is it?” he calls out.

  I close my eyes briefly. “It’s Erik.”

  The door swings open and I look into a very real image of my future. My father is my height, thin as a whip, with his hair gone completely gray. He’s dressed in a pair of fresh khaki overalls and a button up shirt with the cuffs rolled and shot up as far as they will go.

  He doesn’t look happy to see me. “Haj, son.”

  He backs up and lumbers back into the kitchen, taking a seat at the heavy old table. Before him are a bunch of horse bits, a bucket of soapy water, and a rag. And the ever-present schnapps bottle, of course.

  Blanking my expression, I close the door and circle the table, taking a seat at the long bench.

  My father takes a quick nip from the bottle of schnapps, wincing. Then he picks up a bit and the rag and starts cleaning.

  I try not to look around too much; there are memories in this cottage, and not pleasant ones. Memories of my beautiful blonde mom. Memories of my father, drunkenly screaming at her. A memory of her crying and wishing me goodbye, then slamming the front door one last time.

  “Well?” my father demands. “What are you here for, Erik?”

  Blowing out a breath, I eye him. “How are you?”

  He glowers down at the bit in his hands. “Does it really matter to you? Herre High and Mighty.” He makes a sour face and looks at my shirt. Then he shakes his head, setting the bit aside and picking up the bottle again. “You look like a poor man masquerading as one of them royals.”

  My neck heats. I want to fuss with my shirt, but I don’t. Instead I paste on a smile. “You made that choice for me, far. I was barely out of diapers. You’d driven mor away…”