Page 23 of Prince Material (The Prince Pact #2)

ORSON

In one of my project management classes, my professor had talked about a well-known phenomenon called the curse of knowledge.

It basically means that once you know something or are able to do something, it’s hard to remember what it’s like not to have that knowledge or that skill.

That’s why help desk people are trained in asking the most basic questions, like, Is the computer plugged in?

or, Have you tried turning it on and off?

For the first twenty-four years of my life, I hadn’t known Floris, hadn’t stared at him when he smiled, hadn’t felt his lips against mine.

For twenty-four years, I’d lived in ignorant bliss…

and now, barely twenty-four hours after that kiss in the bathroom, I couldn’t remember what that had been like.

How did it feel not to want him? I had no clue.

The curse of knowledge indeed.

We were on our way to the bayou for a swamp tour—his idea, of course. He’d been fascinated by the concept ever since I’d mentioned it casually at breakfast, and his enthusiasm had been impossible to resist. Then again, most things about Floris were impossible to resist .

“So we might actually see alligators?” He bounced slightly in the passenger seat, reminding me of an excited puppy. “Like, real ones? In the wild?”

“If we’re lucky.” I couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm. “Though they’re less active this time of year. The water’s getting cooler.”

“Still. Actual alligators in their natural habitat!” He turned to me, green eyes bright with excitement. “That’s so cool. The wildest thing we have back home are some really angry geese.”

“Geese can be pretty terrifying.”

“True. There’s this one at the palace that I swear has a personal vendetta against me. Chased me across the garden once when I was twelve.” He grinned at the memory. “The tabloids would’ve loved that headline: ‘Prince Flees from Angry Waterfowl.’”

I laughed, the sound surprising even me. It was getting easier to laugh around him, to let my guard down. Maybe that should’ve scared me more than it did.

The drive to the bayou was peaceful, the morning sun painting everything in soft gold. Floris kept up a steady stream of commentary about everything from Dutch wildlife to the time he accidentally caused an incident my mispronouncing the German word for humid.

“You did not,” I said.

“I absolutely did. The difference was an umlaut; that’s what the Germans call those two dots on a letter, in this case a u. Schwül with an umlaut means humid or sultry. Schwul without one means gay. So I basically told the ambassador the weather was gay. He took offense.”

“Only you could accidentally offend an ambassador with weather talk.” I shook my head, unable to suppress my smile. “Though I’m surprised he was offended by that. ”

“Oh, he wasn’t offended by the gay part. He was offended I’d mangled his beautiful language.” Floris stretched in his seat, and I definitely didn’t notice how his shirt rode up slightly. “Germans take their grammar very seriously.”

The bayou appeared ahead, misty in the morning light. Spanish moss draped the cypress trees like ghostly curtains, and the air grew heavier with that distinctive swamp smell—earthy and ancient.

“Wow,” Floris breathed as we pulled into the small parking area. “It’s like something out of a movie.”

“Wait until we’re actually out on the water.” I led him toward the dock where our tour boat waited. “The bayou has its own kind of magic.”

“Speaking of magic…” He caught my hand, tugging me to a stop. When I turned to look at him, his expression was soft but serious. “Are we okay? After yesterday?”

My heart stuttered. The memory of that kiss flooded back—his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, the way everything had felt simultaneously terrifying and absolutely right. “Yeah,” I managed. “We’re okay.”

His thumb traced circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “Good. Because I meant what I said about taking it slow, about figuring this out together.”

I squeezed his hand, gathering courage from his steady presence. “I know. Thank you for… for understanding. For being patient.”

His smile was warm enough to chase away the morning chill. “Though you’re making it very difficult when you look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to kiss me again.”

Heat rushed to my face. “I?— ”

“All aboard!” The tour guide’s voice saved me from having to respond. “Tour’s starting in five minutes!”

Floris grinned, clearly enjoying my flustered state. “Shall we?”

The small boat was already half full with other tourists, cameras ready.

We found seats near the back, and if we sat closer than strictly necessary, well, the bench was narrow.

Floris’s thigh pressed against mine, warm even through our jeans, and I tried very hard to focus on what the guide was saying about the bayou’s ecosystem.

“The cypress trees you see around us can live for hundreds of years,” the guide explained as we pulled away from the dock. “Some of these were here long before New Orleans was founded.”

Floris leaned closer, ostensibly to hear better, but his breath tickled my ear as he whispered, “Bet none of them are as old as some of the buildings back home. We’ve got houses that predate your entire country.”

“Show off,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help smiling.

The boat glided deeper into the bayou, the morning mist creating an otherworldly atmosphere. Water lapped gently against the hull, and birds called from hidden perches in the trees. This place had always felt timeless to me, like stepping into another world where modern concerns couldn’t follow.

“There!” The guide pointed to a partially submerged log. “See that bump? That’s one of our resident alligators.”

Floris practically vibrated with excitement beside me, fumbling for his phone to take pictures. “Oh my god, it’s real. An actual alligator!”

“You’re like a kid on Christmas morning,” I teased, but his enthusiasm was infectious.

“Can you blame me? The most exciting wildlife we get at home is that murderous goose I told you about.” He snapped another picture, then turned to me with such pure joy on his face that my heart did a complicated flip.

The morning sun caught his eyes, turning them the color of spring leaves, and that curse of knowledge hit me again. How was I supposed to pretend I didn’t want to kiss him when he looked at me like that?

“What?” he asked, noticing my stare.

“Nothing.” I looked away quickly. “You’re cute when you’re excited.”

His smile softened into something more intimate. “Only when I’m excited?”

Heat crept up my neck. “You know you’re not.”

“Do I?” His voice was teasing, but there was something vulnerable underneath. “Maybe I need reminding sometimes.”

Before I could respond, the boat turned sharply, and Floris grabbed my arm to steady himself. The contact sent electricity through my skin, and I found myself hyper-aware of every point where our bodies touched.

“Look there!” The guide’s voice broke through my Floris-induced haze. “Another gator, bigger than the last one.”

This time, I got my camera out, partly to have something to do with my hands that didn’t involve touching Floris. The alligator was impressive, easily twelve feet long, sunning itself on a half-submerged log.

“The males can grow up to fifteen feet,” I explained quietly, falling back on facts to ground myself. “They’re actually pretty docile unless they’re protecting their territory or?—”

“Nesting grounds,” Floris finished with me, grinning. “I may have done some research last night.”

Of course he had. “You never do anything halfway, do you? ”

“Nope.” His eyes met mine, and suddenly, we weren’t talking about alligators anymore. “When I want something, I tend to go all in.”

My breath caught. “Even if it’s complicated?”

“Especially then.” His hand found mine between us. “The best things usually are.”

The tour continued, but I was only half-listening to the guide’s explanations about the ecosystem and local folklore. Most of my attention was focused on Floris’s thumb tracing patterns on my palm, each touch sending sparks up my arm.

“You know what’s funny?” he said softly as the boat turned back toward the dock. “I’ve seen some of the most beautiful places in the world. Palaces, famous landmarks, natural wonders. But somehow, sitting here with you in a swamp boat looking at alligators feels more real than any of that.”

I turned to look at him, struck by the honesty in his voice. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His eyes met mine, soft and sincere. “Because I’m not here as a prince fulfilling some diplomatic obligation. I’m me.”

Something warm spread inside me. “I like you being you.”

His smile was bright enough to rival the morning sun. “Good, because that’s who I want to be. Especially with you.”

The boat docked, breaking the moment, but Floris kept hold of my hand as we disembarked. His palm was warm against mine, and I marveled at how natural it felt, how right.

“Want to walk around a bit?” I suggested, nodding toward a nearby nature trail. “There’s a boardwalk that goes through the cypress grove.”

“Lead the way.”

The wooden boardwalk creaked under our feet as we walked, surrounded by ancient trees draped in Spanish moss. Water rippled below, dark and mysterious, occasionally disturbed by something moving beneath the surface.

“It’s beautiful here,” Floris said quietly. “But also kind of eerie. Like the trees are watching us.”

“They probably are.” I squeezed his hand. “Local folklore says the bayou has a memory, that it remembers everything that’s happened here.”

He turned to look at me, curiosity bright in his eyes. “Is that why you love it? Because it remembers?”

The question caught me off guard with its insight. “Maybe. I used to come here a lot as a teen. Something about this place made me feel connected to him. Like the bayou remembered him too.”

Floris stepped closer, his free hand coming up to brush a curl from my forehead. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”