The night was thick with summer heat, the air humming with the quiet thrill of something forbidden.

The boys had managed to sneak into the girls’ cabin, stifling their laughter as they ducked past creaky floorboards and whispered about how easy it had been. It was reckless, stupid—exactly the kind of thing they lived for.

James Windsor, Earl of Wessex stood in the dimly lit room, watching his friends joke around, his gaze drifted—straight to you. He wasn’t loud like the others, wasn’t the type to demand attention in a room full of people. But he stood out anyway. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—effortlessly composed, despite being part of a very reckless plan. Or maybe it was just him.

He knew you from school. You went to the girls’ academy across from his, and though you barely knew each other, there had been moments. A few conversations here and there, fleeting glances in crowded hallways. He liked you—more than he probably should, given how little you’d spoken.

And yet, here you were, sitting at the edge of your bed in your cute pajamas, watching the chaos unfold with quiet amusement.

James wasn’t sure what made him do it, but suddenly, he was moving. Leaving behind the group of rowdy boys, he stepped toward you, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie.

“You don’t seem nearly as entertained as the rest of them,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly.

You glanced up, lips twitching into something between a smirk and a knowing smile. “And you don’t seem like the type to sneak into girls’ rooms past curfew.”

James huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you here?”

He should’ve had an answer—something charming, something clever. But with the way your eyes were watching him, curiosity sparking in their depths, he found himself at a loss.

“Maybe I just wanted to talk to you.”

God, he felt weak in the knees for you.