The Wild Heir(75)

And that feeling is needed because the moment we step out of the limo and into the lens of the photographers lining the red carpet into the museum, I feel anything but safe.

This. Is. Insane.

All I see are the flashbulbs of cameras and a range of different accents shouting my name.

“Ella!”

“Princess Ella!”

“Your Serene Highness!”

I have never been subjected to anything like this before, like I’m a bonafide celebrity when all along I’m just me.

But I keep holding on to Magnus’s hand.

I do the wave that the Queen taught me during my fitting.

I do the smile that Mari taught me in the limo (press your tongue to the roof of your mouth).

And I never look directly into the cameras.

I taught myself that one after the first time I posed because I think I was legally blinded by that flash. In fact, the only reason I’m making it up this red carpet is because Magnus is confidently leading the way.

My god, he looks fantastic. I don’t care what he says about hating the paparazzi. In practice it looks like he loves them and they certainly love him.

And how can they not? He doesn’t just do the smile and the wave. He somehow gives a piece of himself with every single camera flash. His smile makes everyone automatically smile back, the way he plays to people with his winks and nods. He’s flirting with every single person here, and they love him more for it.

The thing is, for all the shit everyone puts him through, for all the shit that he puts himself through, the world adores him. There’s no one else quite like him out there. He’s charming, he’s real, he’s one of a kind.

No wonder it’s so easy to love him.

The thought only stuns me for a moment. I don’t know if I love Magnus but I’m definitely falling in that direction. Even with the words of his mother ringing in my ears, even with those fears, I know the fall is inevitable.

Please take it easy on me, I think as I stare at him as he smiles for the cameras. Please let this work. Please don’t break my heart.

As if he hears me, his eyes are brought to mine and his smile deepens.

I feel like every doubt I had in my chest is giving way to butterflies.

His grip on my hand tightens, and as soon as we’ve made our way into the building, his hand slips to my lower back. I’ve been told that, in public, hand-holding should be the only public affection we show, but fuck it. This whole affection thing in general is new to us and we’re going to indulge in it every chance we get.

The gala itself isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, I don’t really know what a gala is anyway, but at least the paparazzi weren’t invited. There are some photographers, of course, but they were hired by the event and are very courteous, always asking before they can take photos.

Of course there is no hiding from the fact that the whole reason for the gala is to celebrate our engagement. Naturally, a lot of the attention is on us.

Okay, all of the attention is on us.

Magnus and I go from person to person, letting them give us their well wishes and congratulations, posing for photos, making small talk. Even though he’s by my side the whole time, it seems I won’t have a second to talk to him in private.

“Your Serene Highness,” a voice says from behind us, and Magnus and I interrupt our conversation with one of Finland’s diplomats to see the prime minister of Norway standing behind us.

“I am so delighted to meet you,” he says.

The prime minister is tall, with glasses and a shlock of black hair that’s so obviously dyed. His smile couldn’t be faker but, hey, I’m getting pretty good at faking it too.

“Delighted to meet you too, Mr. Prime Minister,” I tell him, shaking his hand.

He shifts his cold, beady eyes to Magnus and that’s when it hits me that the whole damn reason why Magnus and I are even together right now is because of him. Because Magnus has to prove to him that he’s the future king and not some twenty-eight-year-old who got carried away with his daughter.

“Do you mind if I steal him away?” the prime minister says, putting his hand on Magnus’s shoulder.

I briefly meet Magnus’s eyes and they’re sparking with fear.

“No, of course not,” I tell him because what choice do I have here. If the Prime Minister of Norway needs to talk to the country’s future king, the future queen isn’t going to stop him.

But as the two of them walk off, the prime minister already deep in conversation about something, I’m not alone for long. Mari comes up to me, handing me a glass of champagne.

“What was that about?” she asks me nosily.

“I have no idea,” I tell her. “Is it just me or is the prime minister kind of, well…”

“Icky?” she offers with a nod. “He’s super icky. He wasn’t even supposed to be the prime minister but our old one, a woman, withdrew at the last minute and there wasn’t anyone to take her place. I just hope Magnus isn’t in any more trouble. You would think that the public apology he made would have been enough.”

“You’d also think this marriage would be enough,” I say wryly before I sip my champagne.

Mari smiles as she looks me over. Something about her gaze is very disarming. It reminds me of Magnus. Always seeing more than you want them to. “You know, I think you and Magnus make a good match.”