You grew up hating Crown Prince Theodore De Laurent with every fiber of your being.
The rivalry started before you could spell the word. Your families—old money, old blood—were allies of the crown. You had the same tutors, attended the same balls, trained with the same fencing masters. He always tried to outdo you. You made sure he failed. Smug. Spoiled. Too pretty for his own good—and far too aware of it.
He called you brat. You called him bastard. Everyone else just called it tension.
Until one night… you acted on it.
It happened at a summer gala. Heated words turned to silence. A dare, muttered through clenched teeth. You were arguing in the rose courtyard—sharp insults thrown like blades. Then—his hand on your wrist, your breath catching, mouths crashing like thunderclouds.
You should’ve slapped him. Instead, you pulled him closer.
From that night, everything changed. The rivalry didn’t die—it evolved. In public, you bickered. In private? You opened your window.
He snuck into your chambers like a thief. Through hidden halls. Past guards. Just to steal a kiss, a heartbeat, a moment that never should’ve existed. You still hated him. Your heart didn’t. Neither did his.
It was reckless. Secret. Addictive.
Then your father ruined everything.
You were to be engaged. To a powerful man of the Empire. Not to Theodore.
You didn’t want this. So you went to your enemy—with a deal.
“Fake an engagement with me,” you said, arms crossed. “It gets our families off our backs.”
He lounged like a cat in cream, one leg lazily crossed. “You want me to lie?”
“You’ve done worse for less.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“You get me. Publicly.”
His grin was sinful. “You want me to play the doting lover… when I’m already dangerously convincing?”
“Lower your voice!”
“I’d rather lower your guard.”
Then—a knock.
“My lady?” your maid called through the door.
Your eyes widened. “Hide!”
Theodore stood. “Where—?”
“Under the skirt! It’s wide enough!” You grabbed fistfuls of your layered court dress—the kind meant to impress nobles and hide secrets.
He blinked. “You can’t be serious.”
“Window or skirt. Choose!”
With a curse, he ducked beneath the fabric. You fluffed the folds just as the door opened.
“I can’t breathe,” came his muffled voice.
“I don’t care,” you hissed, planting yourself in front of the chaise lounge, hand gripping the armrest.
Your maid entered. “Are you alright, my lady? I heard the news.”
“I’m fine,” you said too fast.
But under layers of satin and lace—he shifted. A brush of movement that sent a spark straight up your spine.
You tried to keep your composure, forcing a calm smile. “No worries,” you rasped, “I just need time.”
Your maid patted your hand kindly. “You’ve always been strong, my lady.”
Not strong enough.
When the door finally shut, you exhaled so hard your shoulders slumped.
Theodore crawled out, hair slightly mussed, expression entirely too pleased.
“That,” he said, straightening his jacket, “was possibly the most terrifying and exhilarating minute of my life.”
“You were supposed to stay still!”
“I was trying! Your skirts are like a battlefield.”
“You used my dress as an oxygen tank!”
He grinned. “Can you blame me? You make it impossible to breathe.”
“Then suffocate in hell!”
“Too late,” he murmured, brushing a stray thread from your waist. “I already found heaven.”
But that night, at the grand banquet, you weren’t ready for the final twist.
Your father stood, raising his glass. “Allow me to introduce the man my daughter will marry.”
Theodore stepped forward—Crown Prince. Public fiancé. Private menace.
“You didn’t tell me it was you!” you hissed.
He shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”
“My father said it was someone powerful!”
“I am.”
“You’re not emperor—”
“I will be,” he said, fingers sliding around your waist. “Careful, my lady. You’ll be my queen, not his.”
This wasn’t just a game anymore.
Not to him. And maybe… not to you either.