Page 88 of Prince Material
He laughed, the sound carrying over the crowd’s noise. “Fine, I’ll do it. You can watch and admire my superior cake-eating skills.”
And watch I did, trying not to laugh as Floris, blindfolded and grinning, attempted to catch a swinging piece of cake with his mouth. Even King Friso joined in, to the crowd’s delight, while Queen Annette watched the whole thing with an expression of fond exasperation I recognized from my own mother.
“Not as easy as it looks, is it?” Laurens said beside me, watching his brother miss the cake for the third time.
“I’m perfectly happy observing,” I replied, wincing as Floris nearly got smacked in the face by the swinging treat. “Though I have to admit, it’s pretty entertaining to watch.”
“Just wait until they bring out thezaklopen.”
“The what now?”
“Sack racing.” Laurens grinned. “Nothing quite like watching the future of Dutch monarchy hopping around in burlap sacks.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Nope. Though if you’re lucky, they might skip it this year.”
Floris finally managed to catch the cake in his mouth, raising his arms in triumph as the crowd cheered. He pulled off the blindfold, his hair adorably mussed, and immediately sought me out in the crowd. His smile when he found me was brighter than all the orange surrounding us.
“Your turn!” he called out, but I shook my head firmly.
“Not happening.”
“Spoilsport.” He bounded over to me, still chewing his prize. “Come on, it’s fun!”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I reached up to brush some crumbs from his chin, the gesture automatic and intimate. A camera clicked nearby, and I froze, suddenly remembering where we were.
But Floris caught my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm, completely unbothered by the photographers. “Let them see,” he said softly. “I want the world to know how happy you make me.”
My heart fluttered at his words, at the open affection in his eyes. Five years into our relationship being public, and I was still getting used to moments like these, where our private happiness collided with our public life. But Floris made it easier, showing me how to navigate this strange new world with grace and humor.
“Your Highness!” a voice called out. “Would you and your fiancé participate in the traditional ring toss?”
Floris looked at me questioningly, and I nodded. Ring tossing I could handle. Probably.
“Remember,” he murmured as we walked toward the gameset-up, “these photographers are Dutch. They’re not looking for scandal or drama. They want to see their royals enjoying the day with everyone else.”
He was right. The Dutch press had been surprisingly respectful, maintaining a polite distance and focusing more on capturing genuine moments than manufacturing controversy. It was refreshing after the chaos that had followed our initial announcement.
The ring toss turned out to be more challenging than expected, especially with Floris deliberately trying to distract me by whispering increasingly ridiculous Dutch phrases in my ear. His latest attempt—something about cheese-eating cats riding bicycles—made me laugh so hard, I completely missed the target.
“You’re terrible,” I told him, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
“You love it.”
“How do you like Amsterdam today?” a woman called out to me in Dutch.
I swallowed. “I love it. Seeing all the orange is wonderful, and everyone is so nice. I’m having fun.Het is gezellig,” I added, and that got me a round of approval from the crowd. I’d really come to understand the meaning of that word, and I loved it, even if it was impossible to pronounce with two harsh g-sounds.
“Your accent is cute!” a teenage girl said.
Warmth spread through my chest. That was another thing I’d noticed about the Dutch; they genuinely seemed to appreciate effort, even when it came with mistakes.
“Thank you.”
The day flew by, much faster than I had expected, and with much more fun and laughter than I had counted on. The Dutch had a great sense of humor. Direct to the point of insulting at times, but if you didn’t take yourself too seriously, it was all good.
My favorite moment, though, was a beautiful rendition of theWilhelmus, the Dutch national anthem, by a teenage girl. Her voice rang out steady and proud as she poured her heart into the solemn song. Out of habit, I put my hand on my heart, something the Dutch didn’t do, though they did seem to appreciate my gesture.
