I can’t run fast enough.

Ben is right there, right down the hallway from me. It feels like forever since I wrapped my arms around him; since I kissed him. I forget the jet lag and exhaustion. All I care about is embracing him once again.

He laughs as I throw my arms around his neck. When his own arms lock around my waist I feel my feet leave the ground. He gives me one good twirl before setting me back down and pressing his lips against mine. A fluttering in my stomach accompanies the rush I feel when he kisses me.

Pulling away just slightly, he touches his forehead to mine and says quietly, “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too.” I giggle like a fourteen year old and almost forget that my entourage is right there watching.

Someone clears their throat—Kassy.

“Your Highnesses, you should probably get ready. Princess, your styling team is getting set up in the suite,” she smiles as we release each other and lock hands.

Ben lets out a puff of laughter, “They’ve been at it for a half an hour now. I had to leave before they started asking me what you should wear.”

As we walk towards one of the last doors in the hallway, I squeeze his hand a little tighter; reminding myself that this is real; I’m here with him again.

“I can’t wait to see them again,” I admit.

He feigns shock and chuckles, “That’s something I’d never thought I’d hear you say.”

“They may be obnoxious but they make me look pretty so,” I shrug.

The second I step foot through the door they’re on me like wolves to a lame sheep. Ben watches on, laughing with Kassy, Gabe, Marc and his assistant,  Oleg. Valencia chatters on about how great my skin looks since I started that facial routine last month. Garrett complains about how pale I am since he was planning on my wearing a nude colored dress—then he changes his mind about it ten dozen times. I finally shut him up by choosing the darker nude dress. Bryant won’t stop bitching about my dry scalp, and the dead ends that have started appearing all over the place.

But in the end, I’m glad they put me through hell. I look great by the time they’re done poking and prodding me. My hair is up in a messy chignon, topped with a fascinator shaped like a small cap with a bow on it, and some netting—it’s the first I’m wearing one so let’s hope this goes well—and my hair actually looks decent for the first time in weeks.

My feet are already screaming at me, because they probably know these gorgeous nude pumps aren’t going to be worth the pain a couple of hours from now.

Ben walks in as I’m clipping on my cross necklace. He takes it from me and clips it himself when I get frustrated. His hand drifts down my back as we start to walk out of the room. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as he keeps his palm firmly on the small of my back. It’s comforting and reassuring—which are two things I need for today. We’ll be in the spotlight once again—for the first time since the shooting we’re going out in public together.

My palms start to sweat just thinking about all the cameras that will be pointed at us. I bet Ben is having similar thoughts. 

Gripping my clutch tightly with both hands, I whisper, “Nervous?”

We begin the long walk through the palace to where the cars are waiting to take us down the road a ways to the royal chapel. He answers lowly, “I’m more nervous about the food being good than anything else.”

Right. I forget sometimes that he’s been through this deal a thousand times before. He’s a pro at poker-facing the media.

I assume, “I just figured, you know… since the…”

Frick. We’re not supposed to mention it anymore.

Thankfully, he just shrugs it off and says, “I got over my fear of being out and about pretty quickly.”

Yeah, unlike me. Those cameras still threaten to make my panic attacks resurface, even after being prescribed another round of medication. I blame the photographers and solely the photographers for bringing that horror back into my life. And I was doing so well.

“Oh.”

As we descend the last giant staircase I lay my eyes on the throng of royals clad in morning suits, fascinators and church dresses. They all look so straight-backed and regal. I feel anything but right now.

“Your Highnesses,” Oleg says quietly, “Since one of you is a godparent you will be arriving nearly last. Please, follow me.”

And so we follow him over to a group that I’ve got to know very well from Ben’s spiels about the royals of Europe. The big six—er, big four as of right now; big five if you include Ben and I. The crown prince and princessly families of Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Belgium and the Netherlands and of course Vladesvya and Chirnova. The gangs (mostly) all there. Crown Prince Frederick and Crown Princess Mary of Denmark; Haakon and Mette-Marit of Norway; Phillipe and Mathilde of Belgium; Willem-Alexander and Maxima of The Netherlands. The only ones missing in our group of Scandinavian Royalty are Victoria and Daniel and they’re They’re dressed to the nines like everyone else, chatting away in various languages because apparently crown princes and princesses need to learn several languages in order to be taken seriously around here (something I need to work on).

When we approach them Oleg and Kassy back away and begin whispering to each other, looking at their phones. Ben initiates the talking, as always. But eventually, I get into it too. It just takes some time for me to fully realize I’m here; talking to royalty—being royalty. Yeah, I’m still trying to process that part of it and it’s been months now.

“So how are you feeling?” Crown Prince Frederick is the first to ask how Ben’s chest is.

Ben nods and cringes, “It’s alright until it storms.”

“Hah! You sound like an old man already,” he comments, making the rest of the group heave a collective chuckle.

But meanwhile I know what they’re all actually thinking: holy crap that could have been me. That could be me. I don’t think the European royals really realized how threatened they are until now. They’re a prime target, and Ben simply emphasized that more. Well, maybe not as prime as him and I, but still. They are public figures after all.

“And AnnaMaria, are you alright?” Mary asks politely. “You’ve been through quite a lot as well.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I answer, lying the best I can. “It’s Ben that has the right to complain.”

The conversation turns back to Ben, just like I wanted. I still feel uncomfortable talking to these people even though they’re extremely and unbelievably nice. We’re even distantly related, but that doesn’t do anything to calm me down. They all sound so educated and refined and I’m just… boring. Average.

An organizer interrupts our discussion of Queen Elizabeth’s Diamond Jubilee that’s coming up soon. The tall woman in all black waits for the rest of the throngs of royals to vacate before telling us that we’re going to be split up for the walk into the chapel. I end up in a car with Princess Madeleine, who happens to be completely understanding of my nervousness. I think Kassy may have something to do with me getting put in the car with her though. Not just anyone gets to ride with one of the “host royals” as we call the royal family hosting a given event or celebration.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she reassures me during the short drive over. “You’ve handled the press up until now, right?”

With a shrug I answer, “Just barely.”

“Fake it until you make it—I suppose that’s how most of us survive under the public eye. Act calm until you are calm.”

Nodding in agreement, I reply, “Exactly. The only hard part is the faking in the very beginning.”

“Which you’ve done very well—at least, we think so; my family and I,” she clarifies.

“Thank you. It’s nice to hear that coming from someone other than just my family.”

The car comes to a stop before a set of beautiful, ornate doors and I know we’ve arrived. Before getting out, however, she pauses and says, “We are your family as well. Never forget that.”

Stunned, it takes me a moment to pull myself together again and get out of the car to meet up with her, Frederick, Maxima and Mette-Marit.

Taking a deep breath and mirroring their calm, joyful smiles, I stand in between Frederick—who I’ve recently found out is actually one of my godfathers—and Madeleine. Maxima and Mette-Marit chat behind us as we climb the few steps up to the doors.

Once inside, the sound of cameras shuttering to life echoes through the massive foyer. I scan the wall of photographers as we stop for a photo or two. They all seem nicer than the American ones. They don’t call out to us or yell, at least. That’s nice for a change. I could grow to like Scandinavian photogs.

Without a word, we begin walking again, toward another set of stairs. As we begin to ascend the guards against the wall go to attention. The snapping noise of their hands clasping their rifles startles me at first. I haven’t heard that sound since the church service.

All remains quiet as we go through another set of doors and end up in yet another foyer. A huge set of golden doors sit before us, and they begin to open as we get closer.

I’m shocked by the amount of people in such a small chapel. But there they are; hundreds of royals and commoners alike standing there in their best morning dress. Their fascinators and hats create colorful waves on either side of the aisle, brightening up the already gorgeous building.

They collectively turn towards the door to stare at us as we enter. My palms start to sweat from all the eyes on us. I have to grip my clutch even harder to stop my hands from shaking. I catch Frederick and Madeleine glancing over at me as we nod to everyone in greeting. They seem awfully protective of Ben and I. I can’t figure out if that’s because we’re all related or because they understand what Ben and I went through was awful. Probably both. Either way, they’re all pretty awesome for being so supportive.

Speaking of relatives.

When we arrive at the steps to the altar looking thingy with all the close family sitting on it, we have to dip into bows and curtseys. Once that’s over with my unsteady legs manage to walk me over to my chair. We’re sitting across from the godparents—which means as soon as Ben gets seated we’ll at least be able to exchange humorous glances.

The fanfare sounds the arrival of the King and Queen, and so we stand. I’m all too aware of the cameras on the rigs above us, perched on the balconies and zooming in on our faces. 

As soon as King Carl Gustaf and Queen Silvia take their seats, we see the godparents walk in. Ben is walking proudly, with Mary beside him; Willem-Alexander and Prince Haakon behind him; followed by Prince Carl Philip and a blonde woman whose name I don’t even remember. I think she’s a friend of Victoria and Daniel.

The ceremony, as expected of religious events, takes forever. It seems to drag on for ages. The only entertainment I get is watching Ben’s face and exchanging funny expressions with him. I also can’t help but admire how… well… royal he looks. I feel like the ugly duckling of royals compared to all these people. Yeah, I keep my shoulders back and head up because I’m a dancer but I don’t have the air of regency that everyone surrounding me on this altar does. Ben included.

I love babies. I babysat my cousin’s kid once for a few hours. It was awesome. I can hardly believe those words came out of Ben’s mouth as we were chatting away in the foyer before. I didn’t take him for that kind of guy. But when he looks down at little Estelle—just like the other godparents—a big grin creeps onto his face and he looks just like any other adoring godfather… if a little younger than usual.

Oh god I wonder how many kids he wants. My limit is three to be completely honest. I know we have to have at least one, though. That’s the whole catch with this “crown princess” thing. I have to pop out an heir if I want to keep my title. Literally. Heirs are a huge deal with our royal families.

Baby talk aside, when we finally leave and head over to the palace for photos it’s not just me complaining about my feet. Even Mary and Maxima are mumbling to themselves, shifting their weight from foot to foot.

“So I guess you never get used to the walking?” I ask Maxima, who bursts out into chuckles.

She shakes her head, “No, sadly. But you know what my mother-in-law once said to me? It’s not the sense of fashion that makes the princess—it’s the ability to walk in heels.”

“She has a point,” I shrug.

Finally, we’re reunited with our significant others. Ben breaks off from a conversation with Willem-Alexander and Haakon. As they speed-walk towards their wives, he speed walks towards me through the crowd.

“So how’s it feel to be a godfather?” I ask as he offers me his arm.

As my hand grabs gently onto the crook of his elbow he answers, “Pretty awesome. Did you enjoy your time with part of the fantastic five?”

“Five?” My brow creases.

He chuckles, “Yeah, we’re one of the five so I figure I would include us in the question.”

And then my brow pops upwards. “What? People call us that?”

With a nod he replies, “The lesser royals especially—Austrians and such. They’re the ones that came up with the nickname actually. I think it’s clever.”

“Speaking of,” he cuts me off before I can comment. I trace his eyes to where he’s looking and see the first of many lesser royals to come and say hi to us. I’m guessing they’re some of the Austrians he was talking about.

It’s going to take me a while to get used to this routine. Shaking hands, getting bowed to and every so often having to bow to Kings and Queens; it’s all so repetitive and exhausting. When do I get to do actual work? Over the summer I hope. Ben tells me we’re going to the World Youth Peace Summit with a bunch of other young royals. Apparently he, Prince Hussein and a few others have been going since they were sixteen.

I can’t wait until we can do stuff like. But for now, it’s all about the smiles and handshakes.

@HRHPrincessAnna: Congratulations to CP Victoria and Prince Daniel! Estelle is a beautiful little girl, and she'll make a great Queen some day! #dopetavprinsessanestelle

But, as with all these events, they end fairly quickly. An entire day feels like a few hours and by the time we’re heading back to our suite it’s ten o clock. Talk about festivities. Holy crap, these Swedes know how to throw parties.

Ben loops an arm around my waist the second we enter the suite and within a matter of a second I’m pressed up against the wall. 

“Do you know how long I’ve waited to kiss you?”

“Long time?”

“Very long.”

And that’s it. He wastes no time initiating the most passionate kissing exchange I’ve ever experienced. Seriously. Only now, as he presses his entire body into mine, do I realize how deprived he’s been. For almost an entire month or even more than that, we haven’t exchanged more than a simple peck. For a guy like him that must be torture.

I gasp and pull away from his lips as his hands grab at my thighs. In one swift motion he manages to scoop me up.

Flustered and blushing as he kisses my neck, I lock my legs around his waist. This side of him has always made me regress back to the shy little seventeen year old I was when I first met him. Yeah, he’s all proper and gentlemanly but my god once he starts kissing he’s one hell of a passionate lover. I’m not used to this sort of thing.

“I love you, you know that?” He says, his lips grazing across my ear.

Shivering slightly, I shoot back, “and I love you, but you already knew that.”

With a deep chuckle, he sets me down on the end of the bed. His lips once again reconnect with mine, but I pull away—with some major effort—as he begins to unzip my dress.

“Ben,” I warn. We said we wouldn’t rush things. That’s how arranged marriages fail—too much passion, not enough of anything else. We agreed to wait at least until the summer.

He smiles against my lips and says, “Your clothes are right behind you, Annie.”

Turning away for a moment, I glance behind me and see that my usual satiny pajama top and shorts are waiting for me—the ones I always take on these trips.

“I’m just helping you into them,” he lets out another puff of breathy laughter that sends a shiver down my body. 

Before I have the chance to protest he slides his hands up my thighs and yanks at the top of my stockings. I automatically jump at the sensation. He’s never done this before.

I let him pull them off me—and note the way he expertly does so. Something tells me he didn’t uphold that virginity clause in the contract as well as I have.

The way he takes off my dress confirms my thoughts.

His lips finally leave mine and I reach back for the shirt. As he begins stripping off his fancy suit I use my highly trained bra skills to take the uncomfortable contraption off my chest from underneath my shirt. The shorts are way easier to slip on, and I end up flopping backwards onto the down feather mattress after doing that.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warns as I sit up on my elbows. I realize I have my legs splayed open pretty widely and snort, sliding them closer together.

“Still doesn’t help that you’re sitting like that,” he raises a suggestive eyebrow. “Or dressed like that.”

With a sideways grin, I comment, “Doesn’t help that you’re shirtless either.”

I take a brief moment to admire his toned top half before he covers it with a white t-shirt for the palace staffs’ sake. They’re usually kind of shy about royals being half-naked.

As his pants go falling down to the ground in a heap I see that he’s wearing his usual boxers. I say usual because every other time I’ve slept with him he’s had them on—in different colors of course but still. 

I’m still not used to the fact that he walks around in those until the maids arrive—or that he wears them to bed and basically nothing is left to the imagination while we’re cuddling.

“Enjoying the view?” He asks, hopping up onto the bed beside me. 

“Yes, actually,” I reply smartly.

After he flicks off the lights his arms wrap around me immediately, dragging me down under the covers with him. I laugh as his hands tickle my waist.

“I’ve missed this,” I admit, nuzzling into his chest. The shirt smells just like I remember it. He smells just like I remember. It’s musky but fresh—his favorite cologne is still lingering on his body.

“Me too,” he whispers, squeezing me even closer. I can feel our legs already getting tangled up together. “Now I can finally get some good sleep.”

With a nod, I agree, “Yeah. Finally.”

It’s safe to that both of us haven’t gone one night without some kind of nightmare interrupting us. But when we’re together; when we’re holding each other like this—the nightmares just seem to fade. And that’s awesome, because I really need just one night without dreaming that I’m being shot.

And as I close my eyes, breathe in his scent and snuggle up against his chest, the relief washes over me in one clean sweep… and I’m out in seconds.

*chapter isn’t edited, sorry guys*

But anyways, thanks so much for all the comments you really have no idea how much I appreciate it! :) you’re the best readers <3

On the side is a lovely polyvore of Anna's outfit from today! :D

keep the comments coming! I really