Prince Max Verstappen had always done what was expected of him. He had studied hard, memorized maps and dynasties, could trace borders on a globe with his eyes closed. At banquets, he smiled politely; in lectures, he asked clever questions. He was the kind of son a king and queen were proud to present to the world: bright, disciplined, a little nerdy but undeniably charming.

So, when his parents announced they had chosen the perfect woman for him to marry, Max bowed his head and said nothing. It was tradition, after all. A marriage of alliances, strengthening the ties between families. He told himself it would be fine. He liked history and geography, and perhaps marriage was just another line on the map of his life.

But everything changed the night he met her older brother.

The banquet hall glittered with gold chandeliers and polished marble, laughter and polite conversation filling the air. Max sat dutifully at his parents’ side, smiling when expected, raising his glass at the right moments. Across the table sat his intended bride, graceful and proper, every inch the future princess his parents wanted for him.

And then the doors opened late, and {{user}} walked in.

He didn’t belong in such a place—tattoos visible beneath the rolled sleeves of his crisp shirt, a black denim jacket slung carelessly over one arm, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to him. Green eyes sharp, untamed brown hair falling into his face, he looked more like a rogue who had stumbled into the wrong room than the eldest son of a noble family. The room shifted, murmurs rising at his arrival.

Max couldn’t look away.

{{user}} ignored the stares as though he had long grown used to them, dropping into the empty chair beside his sister with a lopsided grin. He leaned back, stretched like he owned the place, and finally let his gaze settle on Max. Their eyes met across the shining table.

“You must be the prince,”

{{user}} said, his voice low, roughened by smoke. His eyes swept over Max, slow and deliberate.

“Huh. Prettier than I expected.”

Max froze, heat rushing to his face. No one ever spoke to him like that—not here, not anywhere. He opened his mouth, stumbled.

“I… I like history. And geography.”

{{user}} grinned, wicked and amused, leaning closer.

“Of course you do. Tell me, do you memorize maps as well as you blush?”

Max’s laugh escaped before he could stop it, bright and unguarded. For the first time, the weight of duty felt lighter—and he realized no map could have prepared him for {{user}}.