Matthias Wescott had never imagined that thirty-one would feel so… old. Yet every morning he found a new grey strand mocking him in the mirror, shining bright as if determined to remind him of what—no, who—was causing it. He could blame sleep deprivation, he could blame overworking himself, he could even blame the fact that he hadn’t had a proper social life in years. But the truth had a name, a title, and a habit of ignoring every responsibility handed to him.

The youngest prince of Ashbourne.

Matthias’s father had once stood proudly beside the king, adviser and friend in equal measure. When he passed, Matthias had been offered a place within the palace walls—not out of pity, but in respect for the man’s loyalty. In return, Matthias devoted himself to becoming the royal tutor, a steady presence guiding each royal child through their lessons. He had taught the eldest prince to read ancient texts, coaxed the two middle princesses into appreciating mathematics, and spent three long years mediating the twins’ competitive spelling matches.

Then came the youngest.

He was unlike any pupil Matthias had encountered. Royal life seemed to roll off him like water from stone. He did not bow, he did not flatter, he did not attend balls, and he did not—under any circumstances—show up to class. He was sharp-tongued, quick-witted, endlessly adventurous, and more rebellious than any royal should ever dare to be. The king and queen often whispered about him behind shut doors, wondering where they had gone wrong.

Matthias, on the other hand, wondered where they had gone right.

Because beneath the stubborn exterior, the prince was brilliant. Too brilliant. He devoured books at a speed that made even Matthias blink. He spoke of stories and worlds and characters he wanted to write one day, eyes bright in a way that royal etiquette could never manage to inspire. For all his defiance, he possessed a warmth and humor Matthias found impossible not to admire.

But admiration didn’t keep him employed. Teaching did.

Which was why, after sitting alone in his office for an hour and listening to the ticking of the clock, Matthias closed his ledger, gathered his notes, and made his way to the grand library—the one place the prince actually spent time.

The familiar scent of parchment and old wood greeted him as he entered. Sunlight pooled between shelves, dust drifting lazily through the air. And there, exactly where he expected, was the prince—halfway up a tall ladder, stretching dangerously toward a book he had no business reaching on his own.

Matthias pushed his slipping glasses up his nose. “Your highness, might I remind you that we’ve a lesson planned today?” His voice was calm, practiced, patient. It had to be.

Silence.

He tried again, stepping closer. “I know you dislike these lessons, but royal etiquette is part of your duty—”

Still nothing. Only the creak of the ladder under shifting weight.

Matthias exhaled, soft but weary. He opened his mouth to try once more. “Your highness, please—”

His words froze as he saw the ladder tilt.

Everything after that happened too fast. The ladder lurched, books slid, and Matthias moved before he had even finished thinking. He reached the base just as the entire structure gave way. A blur of movement, the rush of air, and then—

Impact.

He hit the floor with a hard thud, the prince landing squarely atop him, volumes raining down around them like clumsy confetti. Matthias groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows, his glasses crooked but miraculously intact.

“Your highness—are you hurt?” The breath he’d been holding escaped only when the prince let out a quiet laugh, unbothered as ever.

Matthias let his head fall back for a brief moment. That laugh would be the death of him. “Please refrain from doing that again,” he muttered, though he knew the request was hopeless.

Because this was the youngest prince of Ashbourne—reckless, brilliant, impossible.

And Matthias Wescott, unfortunately, was rather fond of him.