"I’m not going to the ball.”

  Theo’s voice was sharp, final. "It’s full of snobbish, foolish royals who only know how to flaunt their wealth, pretend their power is absolute, while they turn a blind eye to their own people. They talk like the world is theirs.”

  His mother, the Queen, sat in silence, her hands folded in her lap, watching him with that infuriating calmness she always carried. Theo scoffed at himself. Of course, she wouldn't argue—he wasn’t important enough to argue with.

  "I’m not the heir. I don’t matter." His voice dropped, bitter. "So why does it matter if I go?”

  She didn’t answer before he turned on his heel and slammed the door.

  ---

  But hours later, he was at the ball.

  Dragged from his walk to the Harrington Royal Library, forced into a sleek black car with guards who didn’t even bother explaining. His father’s orders.

  Now, Theo stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, a glass of champagne sweating in his grip, his jaw tight with resentment.

  The room was too much.

  The chandeliers dripped with gold and light, spilling onto marble floors so polished he could see his own scowl reflected in them. Silk and jewels swayed with every movement—duchesses draped in diamonds, princes in their finest embroidered suits, whispering, scheming, laughing behind glasses of expensive wine.

  The air was thick with perfume and politics.

  Laughter rang through the hall—sharp, artificial, laced with arrogance. Every conversation was the same: their kingdoms, their estates, their wealth. Whose daughter would marry which prince. Which alliances would be made.

  Theo took a sip of champagne. It was sweet, bubbling, suffocating.

  He hated being here.

  He hated the way these people spoke like the world was just another piece on their gilded chessboard. He hated how none of them cared that outside these palace walls, people struggled, starved, fought to survive.

  His fingers tightened around the glass. He was drowning in a sea of people he wanted nothing to do with.

  And then—

  A ripple in the crowd. A shift in energy.

  A name spoken with reverence.

  Cassius.

  Theo’s breath caught, his pulse stuttering before he could stop it.

  And when he looked up—there he was.

  "His Royal Highness, Prince Cassius Edmund Arthur Hartwell, Crown Prince of Ravensford "

  The name rolled through the hall like a decree, a name wrapped in power, in legacy.

  Theo looked up.

  And there he was.

  Blue eyes like glacial water, golden hair sleek under the glow of the chandeliers, a royal blue coat embroidered with silver threads. He looked effortless. Untouchable. Every inch the perfect prince.

  His fingers clenched around the stem of his champagne glass.

  Without realizing, his eyes followed Cassius down the stairs.

  Then—

  A voice.

  Low. Smooth. Rich like velvet.

  Cassius was near. Speaking. Laughing softly at something. The sound curled around Theo’s spine, warm.

  His chest tightened, his breath caught.

  And then Cassius turned.

  Their eyes met.

  He quickly turn away. What's the hell it's wrong with you, Theo? He needed to leave. Now.

  His fingers curled into fists.

  And then—

  A voice.

  Low. Rough. Deep—but soft around the edges.

  "Isn’t it suffocating inside?"

  Theo turned.

  Cassius shifted, turning toward him slightly.

  "I’m Cassius," he said easily, offering his hand.

  Theo looked at it. Then at him.

  Deadpan. Unamused.

  "Don’t your parents tell you to stay a fucking mile away from me?"

  Cassius blinked. "Sorry?"

  Theo exhaled, exhausted already.

  "Aren’t you the brilliant one? The golden son? The perfect fucking score of TED? Do I need to spell it out for you?"

  His voice was sharp, cruel—defensive. But his pulse betrayed him, pounding hard beneath his skin.

  Cassius said nothing.

  Theo scoffed.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "Or is there something wrong with your head? I’m Theodore. Son of Harrington. The one you’re supposed to hate. The one you’re not supposed to talk to, not even supposed to look at."

  His voice dropped lower, colder.

  "You hate me. I hate you. That’s how our parents raised us."

  He stepped closer, so close he could see the flicker in Cassius’s unreadable expression.

  "So get the fuck out of my sight."

  Cassius didn’t move. Didn’t step back.

  If anything, he studied Theo closer.

  So this was Theodore.

  The boy behind every debate, every publication, every controversy. The name whispered among intellectuals, printed in bold headlines.

  "THEODORE HARRINGTON: THE REBEL PRINCE WHO DEFIES TRADITION."

  "HIS MIND IS HIS WEAPON—BUT WILL IT COST HIM EVERYTHING?"

  Cassius knew him.

  Of course he did. Everyone did.

  Theo was brilliant. Untouchable. Ruthless in intellect, fierce in conviction. His name didn’t just belong to Harrington —it belonged to lectures and debates, to scathing articles that tore apart outdated policies, to the quiet revolutionaries who quoted his words like scripture.

  And yet—

  Cassius had never been allowed to meet him.

  The first rule of being a Hartwell was simple: Never acknowledge a Harrington.

  His father had drilled it into him since childhood. They are liars. Thieves. They built their empire with stolen wealth, stolen lands. They are the enemy.

  And yet—

  Cassius had read everything. Watched every speech, every debate. He knew how Theo thought. How he argued. How he refused to bow.

  And here he was, standing in front of him.

  Furious. Beautiful. Daring Cassius to walk away.

  Cassius tilted his head, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

  "You think I hate you?"

  Theo stiffened. Something in his eyes flickered.

  Cassius took a step closer, his voice quiet but unwavering.

  "You’ve been on my mind for years, Theodore. And not once have I hated you."

  Theo’s glare didn’t waver.

  But his breath hitched.

  Cassius saw it—the slight hitch in his chest, the way his fingers twitched at his sides. Like he hadn’t expected those words. Like he didn’t know how to react to them.

  Cassius took another step closer, slow, measured.

  "You think I don’t know you?"

  Theo’s jaw clenched, but Cassius didn’t stop.

  "You’re the youngest speaker at the Global Policy Summit—your speech on modernizing monarchy law made headlines worldwide."

  A pause.

  "You rejected every diplomatic engagement your family arranged for you because you’d rather be at the Harrington Royal Library, studying ancient civilizations instead of sipping champagne with dignitaries."

  Theo’s fingers curled into fists.

  "You dismantled Lord Ellingham’s outdated trade policies in a single debate." Cassius let out a small, amused breath. "Called him a relic on national television. The royal courts were furious."

  A muscle in Theo’s jaw ticked.

  "You fund underground literacy programs in South Bellemont. Speak at universities. You refuse titles. You refuse wealth. You refuse to let them make you something you’re not."

  Cassius tilted his head, studying the storm behind Theo’s dark eyes.

  "You fight. Relentlessly."

  A beat.

  "And you expect me to believe you don’t know why I’m standing here?"

  Theo’s breath came faster now, his chest rising and falling with barely contained frustration.

  No one ever met him like this. No one ever knew everything.

  No one ever said it out loud.

  "Shut up," Theo snapped, voice lower now, rawer.

  Cassius only smirked.

  "Make me."

  Theo’s breath hitched again, but this time, Cassius didn’t stop.

  He stepped even closer, his voice steady, unwavering.

  "Or what? You’ll scowl at me? Glare at me until I disappear?" Cassius let out a small breath of laughter. "You’re going to have to do better than that, Harrington."

  Theo stiffened, but Cassius could see it now—the cracks forming, the sharp edges that weren’t as unshakable as he wanted them to be.

  "You think I don’t know what you stand for?" Cassius continued, his tone turning sharper. "You stood at the Global Economic Forum and called out the entire system. Said, ‘The poor are designed to stay poor while the rich build monuments to their own legacies.’"

  Theo’s eyes flashed.

  "You said, ‘We pretend to rule with grace, but all we’ve done is build palaces while our people starve at the gates.’"

  Silence.

  A thick, heavy silence that pressed between them, filled with the weight of words that shouldn’t have been spoken aloud.

  Cassius tilted his head.

  "And yet, here you are, standing in another palace, pretending you’re any different from the rest of us."

  Theo hated him in that moment.

  Because Cassius wasn’t afraid.

  He wasn’t like the others who dismissed Theo, who sneered at his rebellion or whispered behind his back.

  No. Cassius knew exactly who he was. Knew exactly what he had said, what he had fought for, what he believed in.

  And he wasn’t looking at him with disdain.

  He wasn’t looking at him with admiration either.

  He was challenging him.

  Theo’s breath was uneven now, his heart racing against his ribs.

  "You don’t know a damn thing about me," Theo muttered, voice rough, defensive.

  Cassius just smiled. A slow, knowing smile.

  "Don’t I?"

  Theo let out a breathy, humorless laugh.

  "And look at you," he drawled, tilting his head, masking every bit of his unease with sharp, biting sarcasm. "The golden boy of Ravensford, standing here lecturing me like you’re any better."

  Cassius’s smirk didn’t waver.

  "I never said I was better."

  Theo scoffed. "No? You just follow the rules. Smile for the cameras. Wear the perfect suit, shake the right hands, bow at the right moments—" He gestured vaguely at Cassius’s pristine, polished perfection. "A model prince. A puppet, strung up by duty and legacy."

  Cassius’s expression didn’t change, but Theo saw it—the flicker. The almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw.

  Theo smirked, stepping closer now, throwing the weight of his words back at him.

  "So tell me, Your Highness—what’s it like? Knowing you’ll never be anything more than exactly what they tell you to be?"

  Cassius exhaled, long and slow, before answering.

  "What’s it like pretending you don’t care what I think of you?"

  Theo’s smirk faltered for a split second.

  Cassius’s lips curled slightly. He had him now.

  "You think I don’t see it? How badly you want to hate me? How much it’s eating you up that you can’t?"

  Theo’s throat tightened. His fingers curled into his palm.

  He needed to leave. Now.

  Before he let Cassius see more than he already had.

  Theo narrowed his eyes, stepping even closer, his voice lowering into something cold, sharp, deliberate.

  "That’s cute," he said, tilting his head mockingly. "You think I care what you see?"

  Cassius didn’t answer.

  Theo smirked. Good. He wanted him to feel this.

  "You talk like you have a mind of your own, like you’re above all this pomp and ceremony." He gestured vaguely at the ballroom behind them, at the glittering chandeliers, the silk-lined walls, everything Cassius belonged to.

  "But let’s be honest, Cassius." Theo’s voice dripped with something almost sweet—almost cruel.

  "You don’t make choices. You don’t fight for anything. You don’t speak unless they tell you to."

  Cassius’s expression didn’t change, but Theo saw it—the flicker in his gaze. That barely-there tightening around his mouth.

  Theo leaned in, just enough to twist the knife deeper.

  "You smile when they say smile. Bow when they say bow. Parade yourself around like some perfect, obedient little prince, and you call that a life?"

  Cassius’s jaw locked.

  "I never said—"

  "You never said anything." Theo cut him off smoothly. "That’s the whole point, isn’t it?"

  Silence.

  A thick, charged silence where Theo could feel the weight of every unspoken word between them.

  Theo tilted his head, smirking. "I may be reckless, but at least I own myself. Can you say the same, Hartwell?"

  Cassius exhaled, steady, controlled—but Theo knew he’d hit something.

  Finally, finally, he turned, stepping away.

  "That’s what I thought."

  And then, without another glance, Theo disappeared into the night.

  Cassius stood frozen for a moment, the sting of Theo’s words still echoing in his chest. He should let him go. Let the bastard walk away, spitting insults like he was some kind of martyr.

  But Theo was wrong. So wrong.

  Cassius couldn’t let it end like that.

  With a sharp exhale, he pushed through the crowd, his footsteps quickening as he caught sight of Theo disappearing through the palace’s grand doors, the weight of his own frustration pulling him forward.

  “Theo!” His voice was low, a command that sliced through the noise of the ballroom.

  Theo didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch.

  Cassius reached him before he could escape into the shadows of the palace courtyard. He grabbed Theo’s arm, his fingers tightening in a grip that held more than just anger.

  Theo spun around, eyes flaring with surprise—and maybe something else, something more raw than he cared to admit.

  "What the hell do you want?" Theo snapped, yanking his arm away.

  Cassius stepped closer, his breath sharp with the same fire that burned in his chest.

  "You think you know me?" He shook his head, his voice steady but low, like the growl of a lion ready to strike. "You don’t know a damn thing about me, Theo."

  Theo’s lips parted, but Cassius wasn’t done.

  "You don’t know what it’s like to be the heir to a throne, to be expected to be perfect—to play the part so everyone can call you 'golden.' You think I don’t have a mind of my own? You think I don’t want something more than this?"

  His voice cracked just a little, despite his best efforts to keep it steady.

  "I don’t have a choice, Theo." His eyes hardened. "You have the luxury of being the 'rebel prince.' You get to pick your battles, say what you want, and the world eats it up. But I don’t have that freedom. Not like you."

  Theo stood motionless, caught between anger and something that felt like regret creeping into his chest. He could hear it in Cassius’s voice—the restraint, the rawness.

  Cassius clenched his jaw. "So don't you dare tell me I’m some puppet, not when you have no idea what it’s like to be born into a family that only cares about appearances. You think you’re the only one who wants to be more than just a crown?"

  Theo’s eyes flickered. Something cracked.

  Cassius wasn’t finished.

  "You think I want to be another perfect prince? Another figurehead for their legacy?" His voice rose, louder now, but it wasn’t anger—it was the sharp edge of someone who was tired of being misunderstood. "I didn’t ask for this, Theo. I didn’t ask to be the perfect little puppet they parade around, but that’s what I have to be to protect what’s left of my family."

  Theo opened his mouth to say something, but no words came.

  Cassius, breathing hard now, looked at him, eyes dark and piercing. "So yeah, maybe I play the part. But at least I’m trying to make a difference in my own way. At least I’m not hiding behind my rebellion like it’s a shield."

  The silence between them was suffocating. Neither one of them moved. Neither one of them knew what to say next.

  Finally, Theo swallowed. He wanted to say something cutting, something that would make Cassius back off. But for the first time, there was a weight behind his words that made him hesitate.

  "I never said I had it easy either," Theo muttered, voice quieter now, softer. "But you don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through."

  Cassius nodded slowly.

  "Maybe I don’t." His voice was raw, vulnerable now, as he took a step back. "But I do know this—don’t tell me who I am when you have no idea what it’s like to be me."

  And with that, Cassius turned, leaving Theo standing there, in the moonlight, staring after him with a feeling he couldn’t quite name.

  Theo stood there, watching Cassius disappear back into the palace, his figure swallowed by the golden glow of the chandeliers and the murmuring of the oblivious crowd inside.

  The night air was cool against his skin, but it did nothing to ease the heat still burning in his chest. His hands clenched at his sides, his breath uneven.

  "You don’t know what it’s like to be me."

  Cassius’s words echoed in his mind, over and over, like a melody he couldn’t shake.

  Theo had wanted to cut him down, to prove that Cassius Edmund Arthur Hartwell exactly what the world believed him to be—a perfect, polished, obedient prince. A puppet. A golden son molded to be admired but never truly known.

  And yet…

  Theo had seen the flicker in his eyes. The anger. The frustration.

  The exhaustion.

  He hadn’t expected Cassius to fight back. Not like that.

  His heels clicked against the marble floor as he walked toward the palace doors, his own reflection catching in the grand mirrors lining the hallway. He looked composed, indifferent even, but inside, something felt off-kilter. Like Cassius had knocked something loose.

  It wasn’t just the words. It was the way Cassius had said them—like he had been waiting for someone to finally ask him who he really was.

  Theo hated it.

  Hated that he was still thinking about it.

  Hated that, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if he had been right.

  With a sharp inhale, he straightened his posture, forcing himself back into the role he knew best—the rebel, the untamed prince, the one who didn’t care.

  But as he made his way through the grand halls, the thought lingered, sinking its teeth into his mind.

  Maybe he and Cassius weren’t so different after all.