Page 17 of His Runaway Princess

Her nervousness remained apparent as they exited the van, and she put her floppy hat on. The other three couples walked ahead of them. If she’d known he knew her true identity, he doubted she would have taken his hand. Instead, she clung to it as they moved down the dock toward a fairly large yacht near the end.

Not as big as the one the Quatremaines had, or likely any of the other royal families, but definitely not small either.

In the distance, he could see clouds gathering, but the sun warmed their current location. Maybe that had something to do with the change in travel plans, though he wasn’t certain what they would have been. Helicopter? Airplane?

Jet ski?

Probably not.

The closer they walked to the yacht, the more tightly she held onto his hand.

“I can’t do this.”

The whisper stopped Ryker in his tracks even before she stopped walking.

“What is it?” Ryker looked around for a threat, something catching in the corner of his eye, but gone before he could assess it.

“A yacht. I can’t do it. Not after...” Her voice caught, and she didn’t finish the sentence.

He moved to stand in front of her, taking her other hand. “What can I do to help?”

Tears shimmered in those green eyes. “Can we do something else? Go somewhere else and meet them again tomorrow?”

Ryker hesitated then turned to look at the yacht where the others waited for them. “We can ask.” He squeezed her hand. “Let’s go talk to him.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as they walked. He tried to scan around without being obvious, but he couldn’t get a good look behind them.

When they neared the yacht, the princess began to make a bit of small talk with the tour guide.

Ryker managed to keep a frown off his face as he realized subtle security surrounded them. Had the princess been discovered?

No. They weren’t being looked at specifically. Security seemed much more general.

While she talked, Ryker took the chance to look all the way around and the reason for his disquiet became apparent.

The “homeless” man watched them from nearby. Given his change in attire and even hairstyle, Ryker knew only his training allowed him to recognize the other man. Most people wouldn’t have. Princess Amalia almost certainly wouldn’t.

“Amalia mín?” Ryker slid his arm around her waist. “We don’t want to keep everyone waiting any longer.” He used the pressure of his arm to encourage her toward the gangplank, feeling her resistance with every hard-fought step. Leaning down, he whispered in her ear. “I need you to trust me. Please.”

The steps came a tiny bit easier, but she still resisted.

“Jeg er livredd.”

From the context and tone, Ryker felt certain he knew what her whispered words meant.

“Jeg kan ikke.”

He knew enough of the various Scandanavian languages to understand she didn’t think she could, but somehow, she managed to put one foot in front of the other until they reached the deck.

Ryker turned to the guide, noting the crew already worked to move the gangplank. “Is there somewhere we can go?” he asked quietly.

The guide motioned to another member of the yacht crew who showed them to a small seating area with no one else around. Ryker helped the princess take a seat on a sofa then crouched in front of her. “Amalia, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have pushed you if I didn’t think it absolutely necessary.”

Princess Amalia nodded but didn’t look at him. Instead, she stared at her hands tightly clasping the brim of her hat as it sat in her lap.

The yacht started to move beneath them, causing Ryker to feel the smallest bit of relief.

“What was it?” she whispered.

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