The teasing hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had gotten worse. For weeks, Mattheo had made it his personal mission to remind the entire castle of his so-called “royal” status — and worse, to tie you to it.

By the time you walked into the Great Hall one morning, you were at your limit. He was already there, lounging like a king at the Slytherin table, smirk in place, eyes locking on you the second you entered. He didn’t even wait before saying loudly, “There’s my favorite subject. Late to attend your prince again, love?”

Half the table chuckled. You could feel heat creep into your cheeks, not from embarrassment but from the sharp need to shut him up once and for all.

So you did.

Sliding into the seat beside him, you snatched a piece of toast off his plate, leaned in just enough for everyone around to hear, and said with perfect calm, “You’re right.”

His brow arched, smirk faltering. “Am I?”

“Yes.” You bit into the toast and met his stare unflinchingly. “Because you’re mine.”

The words rang out louder than you’d intended. Silence fell across the nearby benches. Theo actually dropped his goblet. Pansy clapped a hand over her mouth to hide a grin. Draco blinked like he’d misheard.

But Mattheo… Mattheo froze. For the first time in weeks, his practiced smirk slipped, replaced by something almost vulnerable, as though the air had been knocked out of him. His lips parted like he wanted to retort — but nothing came.

You leaned back casually, feigning indifference as you reached for the pumpkin juice. “What’s the matter, Prince? Cat got your tongue?”

The table erupted in laughter, but you noticed his eyes hadn’t left you. They were darker now, intense in a way that made your chest tighten. Slowly, the smirk returned — not the arrogant one, but something softer, more dangerous.

He leaned in close, his voice so low only you could hear. “Careful, love. Say it again, and I might start to believe you.”

And from the look in his eyes, you knew he already did.