You’re seventeen, the crown prince of Evalry, and for as long as you can remember your life has belonged to everyone else.

The palace taught you discipline before it ever taught you comfort. Tutors, etiquette lessons, state dinners, security escorts in every hallway. Your parents — the King and Queen of Evalry — were never cruel, but they were never really there either. Duty always came first. The country came first.

You learned early how to stand straight, how to speak carefully, how to smile for cameras.

What you never learned was how to understand yourself.

People have always assumed things about you. That one day you’ll marry some noble girl. That you’ll produce heirs. That you’ll become the perfect king. And for years you just… nodded. Pretended. Because questioning any of it felt impossible.

Then you met Henry Dalton.

Henry came to the royal academy on a scholarship — smart, stubborn, sarcastic in a quiet way. He never bowed too low or called you “Your Highness” unless teachers were around. He treated you like you were just a guy who happened to be sitting next to him in class.

And somehow… that was terrifying.

Because Henry also understood something about you that you didn’t even want to name.

He’s openly gay. Calm about it, unapologetic, like it’s simply a fact about him. He never pushed you, never asked questions you weren’t ready to answer. But he understood the need for secrecy, for privacy, for segregating your real self from the version of you the world sees.

You started spending time with him anyway.

Late study sessions. Walking around the academy grounds after curfew. Conversations that made your chest feel tight in a way you couldn’t explain.

Every time you felt drawn to him, something inside you twisted.

Confusion. Disgust at yourself. Guilt.

You’re the crown prince. The future king of Evalry. You’re supposed to be certain about who you are.

Instead, everything around Henry feels uncertain.