Theo’s days return to routine. Meetings, reports, events. The foundation is his world again, and he forces himself to believe it’s enough. The disaster site feels distant, like a fever dream. Cassius, just a memory.

  Until today.

  Sitting in his office, reviewing logistics for an upcoming project, his eyes flicker to a news notification. He wouldn’t have noticed it if not for the headline:

  "Doubts in Ravensford: Is Prince Cassius Fit to Be Heir?"

  Theo's breath catches. He opens the article. The words feel sharp, deliberate.

  "Recent events have sparked concerns over Prince Cassius of Ravensford commitment to his royal duties. Sources close to the palace suggest the King himself has questioned his son’s priorities. A tense exchange between King Edward and the Prince was caught on camera outside the royal estate, fueling speculation about internal disagreements within the monarchy."

  The image attached freezes Theo in place.

  Cassius and the King stand outside the palace, the tension between them thick even in a still shot. The King’s expression is severe, his mouth set in a tight line. Cassius, on the other hand, looks like he’s barely holding back frustration.

  Theo frowns. He knew Cassius would face consequences for staying at the disaster site, for being seen outside his usual role. But this—this feels bigger.

  Before he can process it fully, another headline pops up.

  "Engagement on the Horizon? Prince Cassius and Lady Yvonne of Cameliard"

  Theo exhales sharply. His hands grip the edges of his desk.

  Another article. Another photo. Cassius at a formal event, standing beside Lady Yvonne—regal, poised, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

  Theo stares. His mind blanks.

  The article spins the narrative effortlessly. “Lady Yvonne, a longtime acquaintance of the Hartwell royal family, has been seen in close company with the Prince in recent weeks. Sources suggest that an official announcement may be imminent, solidifying a political alliance between Ravensford and Cameliard.”

  Theo lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. The media doesn’t waste time. One moment, Cassius is unfit to rule. The next, he’s securing his future.

  It shouldn’t hurt.

  It does.

  Theo shuts his laptop, but the words linger. Prince Cassius and Lady Yvonne. He exhales through his nose, pressing his fingers to his temple. This shouldn't matter.

  He tries to move on, redirect his focus—back to the foundation, back to his usual routine. But his mind keeps pulling him back. The memory of Cassius under the dim tent light, the way he had looked at him that night, the way he had stayed. The way Theo had kissed him, knowing it could mean nothing beyond that moment.

  And yet, this—this is something else.

  He clenches his jaw and checks his phone, fingers hovering over the screen before locking it again. It doesn’t matter.

  But it does.

  Every instinct tells him to get answers. To book a flight. To find Cassius and ask what the hell is happening. But before he even entertains the thought, he knows the reality—before he even steps foot in Ravensford, King Edward would have him detained, if not outright shot on sight.

  His fingers twitch, his phone still in his grip. He wants to call. He wants to hear Cassius' voice, to ask if any of this is real. But the bitter truth is—

  He doesn’t have Cassius' personal number.

  Not a single way to reach him.

  That realization settles like a stone in his chest. For all that had happened between them, for all the things left unspoken, Cassius still remains just out of reach.

  Theo forces himself to move. He tucks his phone away and stands, smoothing a hand down his shirt as if that could press away the tension coiling in his chest. Focus.

  But his mind lingers, restless and unsatisfied.

  By the time he returns to the palace, the weight of it hasn’t eased. He walks through the familiar halls, nodding to the staff, keeping his expression composed, unreadable. He tells himself he isn’t here for Cassius. He tells himself this is just another day.

  And then, he sees Edric.

  His brother stands near one of the palace windows, sunlight catching in his dark hair, his gaze distant as if lost in thought.

  Theo approaches, careful—natural. “You look deep in thought,” he comments, leaning casually against the opposite side of the window.

  Edric exhales, glancing at him with a tired smirk. “Aren’t I always?”

  It’s easy between them, the familiarity of years past still lingering despite everything. For a moment, Theo almost lets the conversation remain light. But then the weight in his chest pushes forward. He doesn’t hesitate.

  “I saw something interesting today,” he says, keeping his tone level. “An article about Ravensford.”

  Edric’s gaze sharpens just slightly. “And?”

  Theo shrugs, playing at indifference. “They’re saying Cassius is engaged. Lady Yvonne of Cameliard.” He watches, measures Edric’s reaction. “Any truth to that?”

  Edric doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he studies Theo, like he’s searching for something in his expression. Then, finally, he exhales.

  “The media loves to speculate.”

  That’s not an answer.

  Theo keeps his posture relaxed, though his fingers curl against the marble ledge of the window. “So, it’s just a rumor?”

  Edric looks away, his jaw tightening just slightly. “It’s complicated.”

  That—Theo doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the way it makes his pulse hitch. He schools his expression, keeps his voice smooth. “Complicated how?”

  Edric’s gaze flickers with something unreadable before a slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips.

  “Oh?” he muses, shifting his stance slightly. “Why so curious, Theo?”

  Theo rolls his eyes, already regretting this. “It’s just surprising, that’s all.”

  Edric hums, clearly unconvinced. “Surprising? I don’t think you’d usually care much for royal engagements.” He tilts his head, studying Theo like he’s some puzzle waiting to be solved. Then his smirk widens. “Unless, of course… this one bothers you.”

  Theo scoffs, crossing his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I’m not.” Edric’s amusement only grows. “It’s just—what was it you said? We need to hate each other?” He arches a brow. “But here you are, all worked up over a rumor about Ravensford’s heir.”

  Theo exhales sharply. “I’m not worked up.”

  “Right. That’s why you came looking for answers the moment you saw me.”

  Theo clenches his jaw, but Edric is relentless now.

  “I have to say, it’s quite funny watching you squirm,” Edric continues. “I mean, you—who never involve yourself in royal gossip—suddenly all invested in Cassius' love life?” He gives a mock gasp. “Could it be? Does my dear brother actually—”

  “Enough.” Theo cuts him off, voice firm, but Edric just chuckles.

  “Oh, this is interesting.” He leans closer, lowering his voice. “Tell me, Theo, did something happen between you two?”

  Theo meets his brother’s gaze, unwavering. He won’t let Edric pull him into this game.

  But he doesn’t deny it either.

  Edric laughs, a sound full of mischief, like he’s thoroughly enjoying himself at Theo’s expense. It’s the kind of teasing Theo remembers from their childhood—sharp, relentless, and always designed to get under his skin.

  "You know, I haven't seen you this distracted in a long time," Edric muses, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. "It's almost... sweet."

  Theo shoots him a glare. "You’re being insufferable."

  Edric grins. "And you’re being obvious." He takes a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to sound conspiratorial. "Tell me, did he kiss you first, or did you finally grow a spine and—"

  Theo exhales sharply. "Edric."

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  "Fine, fine," Edric relents, though his smirk remains firmly in place. "But you know, if you’re so curious about the engagement rumors, there’s an easy solution."

  Theo frowns. "And what would that be?"

  Edric pulls out his phone and tilts the screen toward him. A contact name flashes across it. Prince Cassius of Ravensford.

  Theo stiffens.

  Edric watches him, gauging his reaction before adding casually, "Why don't you ask him yourself?" Then, with an infuriatingly smug expression, he holds the phone out toward Theo.

  Theo stares at the phone in Edric’s outstretched hand, his fingers twitching at his sides. The name on the screen is like a challenge—one he’s not sure he’s ready to accept.

  He exhales slowly. “This is ridiculous.”

  Edric tilts his head, unimpressed. “You’re the one who’s been brooding over those articles all day. And now that you have a direct line to the source, you’re hesitating?” He pushes the phone a little closer. “Come on, Theo. I won’t tell Dad.”

  Theo shoots him a sharp look. “You think that’s what I’m worried about?”

  Edric shrugs, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I think you’re worried about what you’ll hear.”

  Theo clenches his jaw. He hates that Edric knows him this well, that he can read all the things he’s been trying to bury beneath work and routine.

  For months, he and Cassius had avoided talking about what they were. That night in the disaster zone had been a crack in the wall between them, something raw and real that neither of them had been ready to name. And now—an engagement? A public rift with King Edward?

  His heart pounds against his ribs as he reaches for the phone. His fingers brush against Edric’s before he hesitates again.

  Edric sighs, exasperated. “Theo, for once in your life, stop thinking and just do something.”

  ---

  Theo sits on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, the dim light of his bedroom casting long shadows against the walls. His fingers tighten around the device as he stares at the screen, at the number Edric had given him. Prince Cassius of Ravensford.

  The name alone stirs something deep in his chest—something he’s been trying to suppress since the moment he left that disaster site. The memory of Cassius, warm and close, the way he had looked at him that night. The way he had touched him.

  And now, this. A scandal, an engagement, whispers of doubt surrounding Cassius’ place as heir.

  Edric’s words linger in his mind.

  "For once in your life, stop thinking and just do something."

  His thumb hovers over the call button. He shouldn’t. He should ignore this. Should focus on his work, his responsibilities, the life he’s built.

  But the thought of not knowing, of letting this moment slip away—

  He exhales sharply, jaw clenched. And then, before he can change his mind, he presses the button.

  The phone rings. Once. Twice.

  Theo grips the device tighter, his pulse pounding in his ears.

  Then—

  A click.

  A breath.

  And Cassius’ voice, low and uncertain.

  “…Theo?”

  There’s a silence. Heavy. Unspoken things hanging between them, tangled with everything Theo has tried to ignore.

  Then Cassius speaks, quieter this time.

  “My father doesn’t like how involved I’ve been outside the palace.” A bitter edge coats his words. “And to cover up the doubts about me, he paid for the rumors.”

  Theo clenches his jaw. He should have expected this. Ravensford's king has always been a strategist first, a father second.

  “So it’s all a distraction,” Theo says, voice tight.

  Cassius exhales sharply. “Yes. A convenient one.” There’s a pause. “It works, doesn’t it? No one’s talking about whether I’m fit to be heir anymore. They’re too busy discussing wedding colors and royal alliances.”

  Something twists inside Theo’s chest. The way Cassius says it—like it’s already decided. Like he’s resigned to it.

  He grips the phone tighter. “And you? What do you want?”

  Cassius lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Does it matter?”

  Theo’s pulse spikes. “It does to me.”

  Cassius goes quiet. Then, softer—more raw than Theo’s ever heard him—he says, “I don’t want her.”

  The admission sends something sharp and aching through Theo.

  He closes his eyes. He shouldn’t feel relief. He shouldn’t let it affect him. But it does.

  And he knows, no matter how much he’s told himself otherwise—this isn’t over between them.

  The silence between them is heavy, stretched thin with everything unsaid.

  Theo grips the phone tighter, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t dig any deeper. But Cassius’ voice—low, raw—lingers in his mind.

  "I don’t want her."

  His throat feels tight. “Then what are you going to do?”

  A quiet sigh filters through the line. “What do you think I can do?” Cassius sounds exhausted. “My father has already set the stage. It doesn’t matter what I want. He expects me to go along with it.”

  Theo leans against the edge of his desk, staring at the darkened city skyline through his window. He knows what it’s like to be bound by expectations, to feel trapped under the weight of duty. But hearing it from Cassius—hearing the quiet defeat in his voice—twists something deep inside him.

  “Do you want to go along with it?” Theo presses, even though he already knows the answer.

  Cassius hesitates. Then, softer, “No.”

  The confession lingers between them, fragile and dangerous.

  Theo’s fingers tighten around his phone. He should end this conversation. He should let it go. But instead, his voice comes out lower, rougher.

  “Then don’t.”

  Cassius exhales a sharp breath, like Theo’s words hit something deep. “It’s not that simple.”

  “I know.”

  Another pause. Theo hears the faint rustling of fabric, the shifting of weight. He pictures Cassius sitting somewhere in the Hartwell palace, just as restless as he is.

  “Tell me the truth,” Theo finally says, voice quieter now. “If you could choose—without duty, without expectations—what would you do?”

  For a moment, there’s nothing. Just breathing.

  Then, barely above a whisper, Cassius says, “I’d choose you.”

  Theo’s breath catches. His grip on the phone tightens.

  It’s reckless. It’s impossible. But for one stolen second, in the quiet between them, Theo lets himself believe.

  Silence stretches between them after Cassius’ confession.

  Theo closes his eyes, pressing his thumb against his temple. He shouldn’t let those words affect him. He shouldn’t feel the way his heart tightens, the way something dangerously close to hope flickers in his chest. But he does.

  And he’s not the kind of man who sits back and does nothing.

  “Cass,” Theo says, voice steadier now, sharper. “Then let’s make sure your father never doubts you again.”

  A beat of hesitation. “What?”

  “You want a way out of this engagement? You want to stop him from treating you like a failure?” Theo leans forward, his mind already running ahead, fitting pieces together. “Then give him what he wants. Make it impossible for him to push you aside.”

  Cassius exhales slowly, skeptical. “And how do you expect me to do that?”

  “Simple.” Theo smirks slightly. “You become the perfect prince.”

  A short, breathless laugh comes from the other end. “You do realize who you’re talking to, right?”

  Theo shakes his head. “I mean it, Cass. Show your father exactly what he wants to see. Make the world see you as the heir he claims you aren’t. If you control your own narrative, you take away his power to manipulate it.”

  Cassius is quiet, but Theo can sense his thoughts shifting, the gears turning.

  “You already have everything it takes,” Theo continues. “You just need to use it. Show up to every event. Give them a prince worth believing in. Make it impossible for your father to use your supposed failures against you.”

  Cassius exhales sharply. “And what about the engagement?”

  Theo leans back, a sharp glint in his eyes. “If you rise high enough, you’ll have the power to refuse it yourself.”

  Silence again. Then—

  “You really think this could work?”

  Theo’s lips curve slightly, determination burning in his chest. “I don’t think, Cass. I know.”

  Cassius lets out a breath, something steadier this time. Then, softer—almost like he’s smiling—he murmurs, “Alright, Theo. Let’s play this game.”

  They talk for hours, the world outside fading as their conversation deepens. The difference in time zones doesn’t seem to matter—neither of them cares.

  Theo leans back against his bed’s headboard, phone pressed to his ear, his voice steady, calculated. Cassius listens, sometimes challenging him, sometimes surprising him with his own sharp insights. They go through every angle, every possible move.

  “You need to start by controlling your public image,” Theo says. “Your father thrives on perception. He wants the world to see you as unfit so he can justify casting you aside. We take that away from him.”

  Cass exhales. “How?”

  “You need to be seen. Show up at diplomatic events, take on initiatives that matter. Be the prince the people respect, not just the prince your father tolerates.”

  Cassius scoffs. “Easier said than done.”

  “You’re underestimating yourself,” Theo counters. “You have more influence than you think. The moment you start acting like the true heir of Hartwell, people will follow.”

  Cassius is quiet for a moment before murmuring, “You really believe that?”

  Theo doesn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t be wasting my time if I didn’t.”

  The words land heavier than he expects. There’s silence on the other end, but it’s not uncomfortable. If anything, it’s charged.

  Then Cass speaks, softer this time. “And you? Where do you fit in this?”

  Theo should draw the line here. He should remind Cassius that they’re supposed to be on opposing sides, that whatever this is—whatever they are—has no place in their reality.

  But he doesn’t.

  Instead, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I’m already in it, aren’t I?”

  Cass chuckles, and the sound sends something warm curling in Theo’s chest. “Yeah. I guess you are.”

  They talk until the sky outside Theo’s window starts to lighten. Until exhaustion weighs on his limbs, but his mind remains sharp, turning over every detail of their plan. Cassius' voice is still in his ear, quieter now, like he’s settling into something neither of them dares to name.

  Theo closes his eyes, gripping the phone a little tighter.

  This was never supposed to happen.

  And yet, here they are.

  ---

  Theo continues his daily routine as if nothing has changed. Meetings, reports, events—his days blur together, just as they always have. And yet, something lingers beneath the surface. A tension he refuses to name.

  Then, in the middle of reviewing a proposal at his office, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen. A message.

  Cassius.

  Theo straightens instinctively. They haven’t spoken since that night, but now, staring at the notification, he feels something shift. He opens it.

  A picture.

  Cassius' official schedule.

  Theo's eyes skim over the neatly arranged agenda, filled to the brim with diplomatic events, state meetings, and high-profile engagements. Everything they talked about—every strategy Theo laid out—is unfolding in front of him.

  Another message follows.

  “Satisfied?”

  Theo exhales sharply, something between amusement and disbelief curling in his chest. Cassius wasn’t just listening—he was executing it flawlessly. If this goes as planned, his face will be everywhere in the media. The public will see him as the active prince, the rightful heir, just as Theo intended.

  He types back.

  “Not bad. Almost looks like you know what you’re doing.”

  The reply is instant.

  “I had a good strategist.”

  Theo huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He should feel detached, professional. But there’s something else there—something undeniable.

  He leans back, staring at the screen a moment longer before locking his phone and getting back to work.

  Cassius is making his move.

  And Theo?

  He’s still in it.

  ---

  Theo keeps getting texts from Cassius. Updates on diplomatic meetings, briefings, public appearances. At first, they’re straightforward—quick summaries, just as Theo expected.

  But then the pictures start.

  At first, they’re harmless. A shot of a conference table, a blurred background of politicians, a glimpse of an event hall before a speech.

  Then, Cassius himself.

  A selfie before a state dinner, dressed in crisp formal wear, expression poised but eyes holding something amused.

  Another, mid-morning, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed, looking like he belongs in this role more than he ever admitted before.

  A third—this one different. Late at night, exhaustion visible in his gaze, the kind of tiredness that even a prince can't hide.

  Theo exhales, forcing himself to focus. He types a quick response.

  "You’re reporting everything. Even your own face?"

  The reply is almost instant.

  "Isn’t that part of my job now? Being seen?"

  Theo drags a hand through his hair, shaking his head. This was supposed to be a strategy. Just politics.

  And yet.

  He doesn’t respond. Not yet.

  Instead, he stares at the latest picture, at Cassius—tired but still standing, still pushing forward. And for the first time in a long time, Theo wonders if he underestimated just how much this meant to him.

  ---

  Now, Theo’s daily routine has an unexpected addition.

  Every day, Cassius sends him everything. A quick text before a meeting. A complaint about the endless speeches. A picture of a dinner plate he barely touched because he hates formal meals.

  Theo responds when he can. Short replies, sarcastic remarks, the occasional unsolicited advice. But no matter how busy he gets, he always finds himself checking his phone.

  Then, one evening, another message arrives.

  This time, it’s different.

  A picture.

  Lady Yvonne of Cameliard, stepping out of a car in Ravensford. Poised. Elegant. The rumored fiancée.

  Cassius’ text follows.

  "She’s here."

  Theo stares at the screen longer than he should.

  Something sharp coils in his chest, something he refuses to name. He should ignore it. Should remind himself this was expected, that it was part of the game Cassius needed to play.

  But the words he types back come before logic can stop him.

  "And how do you feel about that?"

  There’s a long pause.

  Theo watches the screen, waiting. Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear again. Then nothing.

  Minutes pass before his phone vibrates.

  "How do you think?"

  Theo exhales, leaning back in his chair. He shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have wanted an answer.

  Another text comes through.

  "It doesn’t matter, does it?"

  Theo grips his phone tighter.

  "If it doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t have texted me."

  A beat. Then Cassius replies.

  "I know."

  Theo closes his eyes briefly, dragging a hand through his hair. He shouldn’t let this get to him. This was the plan. The strategy. The way to secure Cassius' position.

  But it still makes something inside him twist.

  Then another picture comes through.

  Not of Lady Yvonne. Not of the official events.

  Just Cassius. A mirror selfie. Dressed in a crisp suit, collar sharp, expression unreadable.

  The caption reads:

  "How do I look, strategist?"

  Theo exhales sharply, a quiet laugh escaping before he can stop it. Cassius, even in the middle of this mess, still manages to tease.

  Theo types back before he can overthink it.

  "Like a prince."

  A pause.

  Then Cassius’ response:

  "Your prince?"

  Theo doesn’t answer.

  Because he doesn’t know what he’d say if he did.

  ---

  Theo blinks at the screen, his vision hazy from exhaustion.

  Ravensford’s Crown

  The name glows against the darkness of his room, the vibration of his phone breaking the stillness of the night.

  2 AM.

  He exhales, debating whether to answer. He shouldn't. He has meetings in the morning, reports to finalize, an entire foundation to run. But before he can think too hard about it, his finger moves on its own, swiping across the screen.

  A click. A breath.

  And then—

  “You picked up.”

  Cassius’ voice comes through the speaker, low and warm, tinged with something smug.

  Theo rubs his temple, letting out a tired sigh. “It’s two in the morning, Cass.”

  “It’s only ten here,” Cassius replies easily. “And you’re the one who answered.”

  Theo doesn’t dignify that with a response. He shifts against his pillow, pressing his phone closer to his ear, already knowing where this is going.

  “Let me guess,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion. “Long day?”

  A scoff. “Long doesn’t even cover it.”

  There’s a rustling on the other end, like Cassius is settling in, and then—just as expected—he starts talking.

  Theo listens in silence, half-awake as Cassius launches into a detailed rant.

  The meetings. The endless conversations with ministers and diplomats who barely looked at him. The fake pleasantries. The calculated expectations.

  The way his father barely acknowledged his presence.

  “It was suffocating,” Cassius mutters. “Every moment, I felt like I was performing. Like no matter what I did, it wasn’t enough.” He huffs out a frustrated breath. “And Lady Yvonne arrived today, so of course, the press is eating it up. Ravensford's Golden Future, they’re calling it.”

  Theo’s fingers tighten around his phone.

  Golden Future. The perfect heir. The perfect match.

  Theo doesn’t say anything.

  Theo leaned back against his pillows, phone pressed to his ear as Cassius’ voice filled the quiet of his bedroom. The words blurred—something about another exhausting dinner, another empty conversation—but the sound of him, low and familiar, settled into Theo’s bones.

  The clock read past 3 a.m., but neither of them seemed willing to end the call.

  “Are you even listening?” Cassius asks, his voice lighter, teasing.

  Theo hums in response, exhaustion pressing down on him.

  A pause. Then, softer—“Go to sleep, Theo.”

  Theo wants to reply. Wants to tell Cassius to get some rest, too. That he should be more careful, that he shouldn't take everything on his own shoulders.

  But his body betrays him first. The steady sound of Cassius breathing on the other end lulls him under, and before he can fight it—

  The call is still connected. Cassius’s voice the last thing he heard.

  Theo sleeps.