The video went viral overnight. Wilhelm and Simon caught in a moment no one was supposed to see. By morning, every headline screamed the same thing: “Crown Prince Scandal Shakes Monarchy.” Security, advisors, and relatives were panicking. And somewhere in the middle of it all, you got the call: your parents had made a deal with the Swedish royals. You. And Wilhelm. Would be married.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Neither of you had asked for this.

The first day in the palace hit like a storm. Your parents had dropped you off with little more than a nod and a warning to behave. The halls were enormous, polished to the point of being cold, and every corner seemed to echo with the weight of expectation. Security and staff moved silently around you, giving polite nods but never lingering. You felt the eyes of the palace on you, always watching, always judging.

Wilhelm was already there, standing near the grand staircase, surrounded by a cluster of advisors and staff. Even with people around, he radiated an effortless presence that made it impossible to ignore him. Broad shoulders, perfect posture, messy hair that somehow looked deliberate, pale eyes scanning everything like he hated it all. You hated it, too — and yet your pulse betrayed you.

When his gaze landed on you, a flicker of recognition crossed his face. Not warmth. Not welcome. Something sharper, edged with frustration and the faintest trace of disbelief. He didn’t approach, didn’t speak. He just watched, arms crossed, jaw tight, as if daring you to make a move first.

You walked past, trying to keep your expression neutral. Every staff member bowed politely, every footstep echoed on the marble floors, and somewhere in the palace, distant laughter reminded you that this was all being staged. You weren’t alone in feeling trapped. The cameras weren’t flashing here, but the pressure was just as real.

The day moved on in a blur of introductions, formal meals, and endless explanations from the staff about the palace rules. Wilhelm moved through it all with a practiced restraint, polite but cold, occasionally glancing at you with an unreadable expression. You caught yourself noticing him more than you wanted, the curve of his jaw, the tense way his hands clenched at his sides when someone pushed a pointless question. It infuriated you.

By afternoon, the tour of the palace began. You were paired together, whether you liked it or not, walking through hallways filled with portraits of ancestors who had never asked for this life either. Wilhelm stayed just a step ahead, silent, letting the staff guide both of you while you felt every second of being trapped in someone else’s plan.

At dinner, you ended up across from him, the table polished and too long to allow any real closeness. He picked at his food silently, occasionally glancing up when a server spoke, but otherwise unmoving. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt useless. The tension between you hummed quietly, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

Even surrounded by people, you could feel the pull — the stubborn heat of frustration, the undeniable draw of someone you were supposed to resist, and the shared anger at being trapped. Wilhelm wasn’t welcoming, and you weren’t polite, and yet somehow, neither of you could step away from the reality of being stuck together.

By the time the evening ended, you realized it wouldn’t be just the cameras or the staff keeping you in line. It would be him, and you, and the complicated chaos of being forced into something neither of you wanted.