The Wild Heir(23)

Except for the odd one out. Magnus. He doesn’t quite fit in and it’s not just the way he’s dressed with that ugly orange tie and his dark longish hair constantly falling in his face, or the scruff on his masculine jaw and strong chin—the opposite of the clean-shaven, tidy, and elegant royals you usually see. It’s like he’s observing everyone all the time, locked in his head until he blurts something out that most would consider to be inappropriate.

I hate to admit it, but he intrigues me. I don’t want him to because it’s such a cliché to find the bad boy, the rich boy, the royal boy, interesting because the world is crammed full of those types of girls. But there is something about him that steals my attention, something that appeals to some very deep, basic level inside me. Like he speaks to my body, not my brain. I have to constantly remind myself that he’s not my type, that I’m not his type, that he’s just here and has nothing to do with the reason that I’m here.

And yet, during the meal, every time I looked over at him, he was looking at me. His eyes are dark and intense, and they have this way of holding your attention until it’s almost uncomfortable. I felt like he was trying to creep into every nook and cranny inside me. I often had to look away.

“He’s just a tall drink of water, isn’t he?” Jane murmurs to me just before we enter the room, her eyes drifting all over Magnus. I’m tempted to jab her in the side again, but I know it doesn’t do me any good.

Besides, she’s right. I won’t admit to her that she’s right because then she’ll probably try some match-making scheme and I’d hate to see how that would go (knowing her, it would probably be along the lines of her telling him I want to shag him or something equally as embarrassing), but he’s a damn handsome man in his own rugged, overly confident way. He’s tall, with shoulders like mountains, and I know that underneath that fitted suit he’s covered in tattoos and loads of muscle, no thanks to all the paparazzi pics of him sunbathing on the royal yacht in the summer.

But even though I can appreciate how blessed he is in the looks department (and I’m not surprised, the King is handsome, and the Queen and his sister are gorgeous), that doesn’t mean I’m going to turn into a bumbling fool, even if there is something about his gaze that leaves me rather unnerved and tongue-tied.

And so, right now, as we approach the party, I can feel his eyes burning on me. I don’t even have to look up at him. Instead, I keep my attention on Mari, his sister, who seems only a few years younger than me and because of that is a lot more approachable.

“Champagne?” the Queen asks me as a waiter brings over a tray.

“Yes, thank you,” I tell her as I take a glass off the tray and Jane does the same. I notice that the King isn’t drinking anything at all and that he hadn’t at dinner either. I know that the Norwegian royal family is known for partaking in good food and drink, but it would be rude of me to bring it up. Perhaps he’s quitting for health reasons. I remember reading somewhere recently that he had pneumonia at the start of the summer.

“So,” the King says, “how are you liking your school? I know we touched on it briefly earlier but obviously you picked St. Andrews for a reason.”

My first instinct is to shrug, but I know I have to sound as concise as possible. “I had a year off between finishing up my boarding school and before starting university. I decided to travel around the UK, and I absolutely fell in love with Scotland. I’m afraid I’m there more for the country than the school, though of course it’s a very well-regarded university.”

“You know Oslo has a very good university as well,” he points out and quickly exchanges a glance with the Queen.

Okay. That’s kind of an odd thing to bring up, as if it’s a competition. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard much about the schools in Norway. Actually, I don’t know too much about Norway in general.”

“But you seem to know an awful lot about Norway’s environmental policies,” Magnus speaks up.

I whip my head over to him and catch a hint of a smile playing on his full lips. I’m not sure why my mind is noticing how full and lush they are considering what he just said and I urge my brain to ignore them. “Yes, well it’s hard not to know those things when they stand out like a sore thumb among the world’s developed countries.”

“Were you a fan of Captain Planet when you were growing up?” he asks, now fully smiling. The royal bastard has a lovely smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell him quickly and then realize that perhaps that wasn’t the best way to speak to the Crown Prince of Norway. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“It’s quite all right, Your Highness,” he says right back. “I think it was before your time. How old are you again?”

“Magnus,” his mother chides him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman’s age?”

“Woman?” he says, jerking his chin at me. “She’s just a girl.”

“I’m twenty-two,” I say stiffly. “And whether I’m a girl or a woman, that’s not for you to speculate.”

This time, Jane jabs me in the side. That’s a first.

I look over at her and she’s giving me a stern look. Sheepishly, I look back at the royal family, expecting to see disapproving scowls on their faces, but instead they all look rather impressed, even Magnus.