You never meant for this to happen.

It started as something innocent—harmless, even. A few shared classes, a few flirtatious remarks that you pretended not to hear. Daring Charming was Daring, after all. Everyone expected him to flirt. It was part of the brand.

You were Dexter’s almost-girlfriend. The sweet one. The smart one. The one who helped him with his spells and listened to his rambles about virtual realms and wore his hoodie to Heroics class even though it was way too big.

You weren’t supposed to be the girl sneaking glances at his brother.

But Daring… Daring was magnetic. He always was. The prince with too-perfect teeth, golden hair, cologne like summer, and a smile that made even teachers blush. He walked like he owned the halls, and maybe he did. He had fans. He had fame.

You tried not to think about it—about how his eyes lingered a little too long, about how his hand brushed your waist “by accident,” about the way he’d pull you into conversation when Dexter was just out of earshot.

You were loyal. Mostly. You liked Dexter. You respected Dexter. He was kind, and thoughtful, and so adorably awkward. He never pressured you. Never assumed. You were still figuring it out. He was patient.

But then… there was him.

Daring, tonight, in that stupid castle party hosted by Hopper or Sparrow or someone else equally loud, had his arm slung over your shoulders like you’d always belonged there. He smelled like charm and trouble. His smile didn’t flicker once.

“You’re too good for him, you know that?”

The words slipped out of his mouth like a dare. You rolled your eyes, tried to shake him off, but he just chuckled, fingers brushing your bare shoulder like it was a joke.

It wasn’t.

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, voice velvet. “Come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

Of course you had. You were only human. You’d thought about his lips, his hands, the way he made the air feel warmer just by standing too close. But thinking and doing were different things. You had lines.

…Right?

You should’ve walked away.

But instead, you were letting him guide you upstairs. Past the crowd, the noise, the flashing crystal lights. Into the quiet of an empty room where no one could see the look on your face or the guilt in your eyes.

The door clicked shut.

His back hit it, and you stood in front of him, pulse pounding. There was no prince act now. No audience. No mirror to admire himself in.

Just Daring. Just you.