Page 21 of The Princess Trap

Chapter Eight

Cherry blinked. “No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“No,” she insisted. “You’re not. There are, like, five princes. Charles, Philip, Will, Harry—“

“I’m not anEnglishprince.” He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Oh, right. I forgot we’re not the only ridiculous country in the world.”

He arched a brow. “I take it you’re not a monarchist?”

“Are you offended?”

“No.” A corner of his mouth kicked up into that lazy, half-smile. “I’m not a monarchist either. I’m not much of a prince.”

From his place by the window, Hans let out an irritated huff. “Yes, you are. You are His Royal Highness Prince Magnus Ruben Ambjørn Octavian Gyldenstierne of Helgmøre and you are very much a prince.”

Cherry’s brows shot up. “Magnus? Your name is Magnus?” For some reason, the idea that she’d been calling him the wrong name all this time bothered her more than the fact that he was, apparently, royalty. And where the fuck was Helgmøre? She’d been hoping he was from Monaco.

But he shook his head vehemently. “My name is not Magnus.”

“Hans just—”

“My name isnot Magnus. My name is Ruben.” He lost his cool all at once, like the breaking of a dam. His eyes burned bright and his fists were clenched by his sides.

Well. It was about time someone else lost their shit, since she’d been losing hers for the past twenty minutes.

“Fine,” she said. “Ruben. Whatever.” She shook her head, trying to capture all of her scattered thoughts. “Look, what really matters here is… Christ, youarefamous. Like,reallyfamous. Right?” She looked at Hans for confirmation. The huge man nodded. “So where’s Helgmøre? Will those pictures show up in the British press? Because—“

Ruben held up a hand. “You don’t need to worry about the pictures.”

“I don’t? Why not?”

He and Hans shared a look. “They’ve been dealt with.”

Cherry frowned. “Jesus Christ, what did you do?!”

“Nothing! Nothing bad.” Then he appeared to reevaluate that sentence. “Well, actually…”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Or the way he was looking at her, with wary concern, as if she was a dangerous animal that could turn on him at any moment. Her eyes flew to Hans, and he seemed to share Ruben’s worry.

“What?” she snapped. “Just tell me!”

“Well… We may need to get you a security detail or… Something. Not sure. Now I think about it—“ He frowned suddenly, as if pained, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hm. This could get complicated.”

“What?”

He ignored her, turning to Hans. “What do you think we should do?”

“What?” Cherry repeated.

Hans scowled. “Don’t ask me. Clearly you’ve lost your fucking mind today, so I doubt you’d listen to my advice.”

“Oh, don’t be a bore, Hans. This really isn’t a good time.”

“You’re tellingmethis isn’t a good time? I toldyou—” Mid-sentence, Hans switched languages.