His Forbidden Princess (Dirty Royals Book 3)

by Vivian Wood

  She puts a hand on my arm. I freeze.

  Her casual touch shouldn’t feel like a burning brand… but it does. It’s the simplest thing and yet… I would do almost anything to find out what it feels like when she grips me, pulls me closer.

  My eyes widen at the thought and I dart my gaze over to the window, feeling guilty.

  She’s not for you.

  She’s a literal princess.

  And she’s your best friend’s little sister.

  I bite my lip.

  She just smiles and crinkles her face. “Call me Nika. Okay? We can be friends while you keep an eye on me. But only if you stop calling me Annika. You sound so matronly when you say my name like that.”

  I stand up, shaking off her touch. Awkward is my middle name right now. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  She arches a brow. “Are you going to be okay, Erik?”

  My neck heats. “Yeah. I just realized that I’m late. For… a date.”

  That’s a lie. I’m not late for anything but lying in my bed alone, touching myself and fantasizing about the beautiful girl right before me.

  Her eyes narrow on my face. “Oh. Well… don’t let me keep you.”

  Committing fully to my escape plan, I start stalking toward the hallway. “Goodnight, Annika.”

  As I get to the doorway, she calls after me. “It’s Nika!”

  I give her a backwards wave and flee the room, feeling like a complete ass.

  12

  Annika

  What do the terms radical self-love and self-acceptance even mean, anyway?

  I furrow my gaze, rocking back on the flimsy plastic chair I’m sitting in. I scroll down the screen of my phone, trying to figure that exact question out for myself. The ballroom I’m sitting in is dank and musty with disuse, the overhead lights flipped off and the floor to ceiling green velvet curtains pulled shut.

  Faintly I hear laughter coming from the other ballroom of this hotel. Someone has obviously said something funny at the gala. But I couldn’t suffer through another minute of smiling and laughing politely so I snuck in here to do a little reading.

  Plucking at my white chenille dress, I screw up my face.

  Radical self-acceptance is a philosophy that means that you are enough. More than that, you are doing fine…

  A door creaks open, the lights overhead flicker on. Erik is illuminated, looking mouthwatering as ever in his dark blue suit and black tie. He cuts quite a figure, tall and light-haired and muscular.

  He crosses his arms, pushing out his cheek with his tongue. When he speaks, he doesn’t sound happy. “Why are you hiding in here?”

  Sighing, I turn off the screen to my phone. “If I have to hear one more old rich man tell one more story about the good old days before the immigrant problem, I’m going to snap. I’m not here to make rich guys feel like they are winning the war against progressivism or whatever.”

  Erik cocks his head. “We can’t leave. We just got here. And we were two hours late for this event because you had a hair emergency.”

  I stand up, brushing at my skirts. Strolling toward him casually, I come to a halt less than a foot away from where he stands. “If I have learned anything from my grandmother, it is that a princess’s beauty is far more important than whether she is always precisely on time.”

  He gives me a dubious look. “I doubt that very much, An—,” He catches himself. “Nika.”

  I smile at him slyly. “If you really believe that, you don’t know Momse at all.”

  He scowls. “Let’s go. All you a required to do is smile and nod for the next…” He extends his arm, checking his watch. “Thirty minutes.”

  A light bulb goes off in my head. My smile widens. “Orrr… we could be bad and sneak off to do something fun. No one will probably even notice that we’re gone. It’s not as if either of us is as important as Stellan, right?”

  His eyes narrow on my face. “We’re still required to do our jobs, Nika.”

  Biting my lower lip, I scrunch my face up. And then I grab his hand, giving it a tug. “Please? Come on, you know that you’re dying of boredom out there. Have a little fun for once in your life, Erik.”

  For a moment, I can almost feel his critical gaze as he looks me up and down. I expect him to say no. I expect him to give me a stern talking-to about how we’re here to represent the royal family.

  But to my surprise and delight, he glances behind him and then shrugs. “Where do you want to go, princess?”

  My eyes widen. I beam at him, pulling on his hand. “I actually have a place in mind. Come on.”

  Erik gives me a funny look and pulls his hand from my grip, looking like he might already regret saying yes. But when I run across the ballroom, kicking up little dusty whirlwinds in my wake, he trudges after me. I open a door that lets out into a quiet, brightly lit corridor. Hiking up my white skirts feels natural. Sneaking down the corridor and down a back staircase is less so, but still fun as hell. When I finally push my way out into a breezy Copenhagen evening, I grin back at Erik. The block we’re on has giant buildings everywhere I can see. There are a ton of lit up signs and a lot of foot traffic.

  I make a sweeping gesture. “What did I tell you? Freedom.”

  Erik rolls his eyes a little bit, but his lips tug upward too. I count that a victory. “Lead the way,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets.

  I shake my head at that and lead him down the block, trying to blend in. People passing by do double takes when I scurry past them. I’m more than used to it by now.

  Looking at the signs on the tall buildings, I spot exactly what I want.

  A faded light up sign, white with yellow lettering that says, “The King’s Ransom Games”.

  “Here we are,” I say, pushing inside the steel double doors. As soon I step in, I’m transported to somewhere else entirely.

  The room is dark and warm, the lights and noises from the old school arcade machines instantly comforting. At the far end of the single room shop, a bored looking teenage boy scrolls through his cell phone.

  “Oh my god,” Erik says, suddenly beside me. I notice Erik’s height because he’s only an inch or two shorter than the ceiling. I hadn’t actually thought about it, but I guess the ceilings are pretty low in here.

  Erik grins. “I… I thought you were going to take me to another bar or something. This is…” He looks around with wide eyes. “This is awesome!”

  He heads into the lion’s den with no fear at all. I follow him, grinning at his reaction. There are machines with joysticks and names like Ultimate Fighter Four. There are a few racer games, a Ms. Packman game, and an air hockey table. The arcade has a few customers who don’t pay us the least bit of attention.

  That’s one of the reasons my father would bring us all here when we were little kids.

  I bite my lip, wiggling my eyebrows. “This is my top-secret place. No one ever hassles me here. Everyone is absorbed in their games. I can just… kick back and play some Skee-Ball.” I lean in and whisper the last bit. “If I had a choice in the matter, I would never leave this place.”

  Erik nods, looking me up and down. “That makes sense. This arcade is a weird place that I would never expect to find you in.”

  He is already pulling out his wallet and approaching the prize counter. He waves at the oblivious teenage boy. “How do we play?”

  Without even looking up from his screen, the gawky teen points to a row of vending machines. “Right there.”

  Erik smirks a little at me, making change. He ends up with a big handful of silver tokens. He glances at me.

  “I don’t actually know how games are priced,” he says, looking around the crowded room. “What should we try first?”

  I glance at the Dance Dance Revolution game where two players are challenged to see who dances better to Japanese music. “Maybe that?”

  Erik pulls a face. “Something easier.”

  I crinkle my nose and look around. My gaze lands on two decrepit
Skee-Ball machines. The object of the game is to roll a heavy wooden ball up a sloping incline, managing to sink the ball in one of the holes cut in a slanted wall.

  I wiggle my eyebrows at him, heading over to the game. “I used to be so good at this game. I bet I can kick your ass.”

  He follows me over, slapping down a few tokens on my machine. “I’m willing to take that bet, princess.”

  I grin. “You should probably take your tie off because this competition is about to get serious.”

  He takes his tie off, stuffs it in his jacket pocket, then unbuttons the very top button of his shirt. I kick my impractical heels off even though the floor is cheap, old, sticky carpet.

  “It’s on,” I say, grinning. A game behind me beeps triumphantly, a sign that someone has won.

  But I hardly notice the sticky floor or the noises going on around me… because Erik laughs, looking like an overgrown kid.

  He puts two of his tokens in the machine and balls roll down a slot, making a noise that I’ve never heard anywhere else.

  Shaking my head, I do the same. Then I face the inclined ramp and pick up a ball. The thunk of the wooden ball when I wind up and release it underhanded is so satisfying.

  So is the way that the ball climbs the ramp effortlessly, dropping into the nearest hole.

  “Yes!” I cheer.

  Erik rolls his eyes. “Calm down, that was a twenty-point shot. Watch this.”

  Thunk. I watch his ball sail up the ramp and up the wall, coming close to the upper left hole. That one is worth a hundred points… but it doesn’t matter, because the ball rolls down into the gutter.

  “Hah!” I say, pointing at Erik’s machine. “Take that.”

  “Whatever,” he says, rolling and stretching his neck. “That was only the first one. Let’s see you land one of the top holes, Nika.”

  I wiggle my eyebrows, grabbing another ball and rolling it up the incline. We both do it over and over again, twelve times total, until we are out of balls. The machines start beeping and trilling, pushing out some tickets.

  I end up winning by twenty five points, which I rub in Erik’s face. “I told you I was the master of Skee-Ball, didn’t I?”

  He takes off his jacket. “Let’s go again. I’m sure that the jacket was just holding me back.”

  I throw my head back, laughing so hard I’m honestly afraid for the seams of this expressive dress. “You must be dreaming!”

  A throat clears behind me. I whirl, expecting an adult. But I find a red-cheeked little boy, probably about ten years old. He clutches a pen and a piece of paper.

  “Princess Annika?” he says, blushing. “Would you mind if I got your autograph, please?”

  I beam at him. “Of course not. What is your name?”

  “Paul,” he says, turning an even brighter red. I take the pen and piece of paper, chatting with him for a second and then signing it.

  And then I end by offering him a hug. He agrees and hugs me surprisingly hard around the middle, for so long that Erik clears his throat and steps toward us.

  Paul squeals and takes his autograph with him as he flees back into the wall of beeping and ringing machines. Erik’s lips twitch.

  “You just earned yourself a fan for life.” He screws up his face. “He’s too young to be creepy, right?”

  I laugh. “I think so.”

  He leads me back toward the Skee-Ball machines. “That was the first time I’ve ever seen you being the princess of Denmark. I mean, I’m sure you do it plenty. But that was the first time I’ve ever been around when it happened.” He puts two tokens in his machine, making the balls roll down. “You were very natural with him.”

  I put my tokens in, eyeing the machine before me. “I should be. I’ve had nineteen years worth of practice.”

  He chuckles. “I just meant that you were good with kids. That surprises me for some reason.”

  I pick up a ball, rolling it up the incline. “I don’t know why. I love children. I plan to have at least four when I get older.”

  The ball sinks into the gutter, causing me to pout. “Damn it.”

  He’s looking at me. I can feel his eyes on my figure. I frown, trying to concentrate.

  “What?” I ask.

  Erik shrugs a shoulder. “Nothing. It’s just… I didn’t realize you were so…” He pauses. “Complicated, I guess.”

  I roll another ball, which also goes straight into the gutter. “Damn it!”

  I whirl to him, frowning. “Everyone is much more complicated than they seem, Erik. Even the most seemingly boring person has multiple facets to their personality.”

  He reaches out and grabs my arm, giving me a squeeze. “Okay, okay. I’ll make a mental note.”

  For a second, the breath leaves my lungs. Our gazes connect. The warmth of his fingers against my skin makes me shiver.

  I swear, I see some forbidden emotion lurking there in his eyes.

  Desire, maybe. Or is it just lust?

  I lick my lower lip, my mouth opening.

  And then he gives himself a shake, dropping my arm and stepping back. When he smiles at me again, it seems faded and plasticine.

  “Throw another ball,” he says, jerking his head toward my machine. “See if you can beat me again.”

  Then he looks down at his own machine, concentrating on his first ball. When he rolls the ball again, he hits the top right hole. The Skee-Ball machine goes nuts, ringing and announcing that he is a winner.

  He grins and pulls a long strand of tickets from the machine. “Come on. Help me choose what prize to take home.”

  “Here.” I giggle, handing him all the tickets from my machine. As he leads me over to the prize counter, I scrunch my face up. There is a whole wall of prizes, everything from stuffed animals and remote-controlled helicopters to smaller prizes in bins behind a glass counter.

  Cellophane wrapped candies. Tiny, brightly colored cars. Shiny silver stars. Fake mustaches in different colors. Bouncy balls that look like little planets.

  Erik looks at the tickets in his hand thoughtfully. “I don’t think we have enough tickets for any of the stuffed animals. It looks like we are stuck picking a couple of these trinkets.”

  Looking at the goods behind the counter, I grin. “Well, you need that one.”

  I point to a pair of Groucho Marx-style glasses that have a fake nose and moustache attached. Erik rolls his eyes, handing his tickets to the disinterested teenaged boy. The guy doesn’t even count them. He just grabs the glasses and hands them over silently.

  “Hmm,” Erik says, bending down to see a second shelf of plastic jewelry. “Oh! Can I get that one too?”

  The boy looks bored as he fishes the piece of plastic out.

  “No, no. The ring. It’s for her,” Erik corrects.

  The attendant pulls it from the case and slaps it on top of the counter. It’s gaudy, looking like a solid pink piece of bubblegum made into a ring with a multifaceted surface.

  “Oh yes,” Erik says, picking it up. “That’s the one.”

  I laugh as he slides the ring on my finger, just like a wedding ring. “Oh darling, it is so thoughtful. You must have put so much thought into picking this out.”

  “Hold on.” He picks up the glasses, fitting the fake nose and frames on his face. “There! Now we are perfect for each other in every conceivable way.” He sticks out his elbow. “Come on, Ms. Potato Head. Let’s go back to the Barbie Dream Mansion and race our Hot Wheels against each other.”

  I can’t hold back a grin. “You know, you kind of look like Ken.”

  He shakes his head, leading me to the exit. And I look up at him adoringly, wishing that we could always be the people we were tonight.

  13

  Erik

  Annika crosses her arms as we walk up to St. Mark’s preparatory school. It’s the sister school to the boarding school all of the younger Løve siblings were sent to and it is right in the middle of downtown Copenhagen.

  Annika raises her head and schools
her expression. I glance at her stylish wide legged black trousers and white top with an oversized pale blue flower on the shoulder. With her hair pulled back into a crisp bun and her understated makeup, she looks every bit the princess she is supposed to be.

  But that in itself makes me worried. It’s like Nika is making herself smaller somehow, less noticeable. I should be glad…

  But all I feel in the pit of my stomach is acid.

  She’s been quiet this morning on the way here. Too quiet, in my opinion.

  Just before we climb the steps to enter, I cast my gaze over Nika. “What’s going on with you?”

  She glances at me, arching a brow. “What do you mean?”

  I glance around, then grab her elbow and pull her aside. “We’re here to promote your boarding school to prospective new students. I assume that you agreed to this… so why are you so…” I squint at her face. “Subdued?”

  She lifts her chin an inch, her cool blue eyes expressionless. “I am only trying to be who they expect me to be today. That’s all.”

  She fingers the pearls strung around her neck, her gaze flitting to the ornate door that leads inside.

  I grip her elbow harder, drawing her gaze back to my face. “Do you want to leave?”

  She arches a brow. “No. My grandmother expects me to show up here and wow the applicants with my presence. So, I’m here. Let the wowing commence.”

  I stare down at her for a few more seconds. The heavy doors behind us open, a priest sticking his head out. “Ah! You’re here! Come in…”

  Annika gives me a strange look, twisting her lips and rolling her eyes. But then she pushes past me, heading toward the black-frocked priest.

  “It’s lovely to be here,” she murmurs.

  The priest absolutely beams, offering her his elbow. “It is so nice to meet you, princess Annika. I’m Father Jean. Come, meet some of the parents and potential future St. Xavier’s students…”

  I follow them through the set of doors, into a long hallway that is lined with beige lockers that match the tan floors. The air here smells slightly astringent, like someone has only just wiped down everything in the hallway.