Being raised among nobles, kings, and queens, had its effect growing up. Expectations were skewed, friendships weren’t just friendships, they were pre-determined alliances.

That was the category you and Simons parents had tried to shove you into as children. If you grew up together, you were less likely to start a war against each other when the time came and you both inherited the throne.

But unfortunately, it did the opposite.

Being around each other so much seemed to manifest in the other direction. The older you two got, the more bitter it turned.

He wanted his families throne. You could not have wanted yours less. Simon considered you weak, and ungrateful. You considered him an egotistical ass, who simply enjoyed ordering people around.

The animosity between you tore your friend groups in half, and grew with you.

But with your families as close as they were … neither of you could escape each other.

Every birthday. Every brunch. Every gala—every ball. Everything. Simon was there, mocking you and making a fool of himself in front of everyone. And the worst part was, it worked. Girls swooned, your families loved him.

But you saw it for what it was. A game, just to make you mad, and show you what you were missing.

Simon could charm the pants off anyone, and garner the respect from even the coldest people.

Whereas you were lucky just to be noticed by your own family.

It was your 18th birthday. Simon had already had his—a weak earlier. Curse the gods for making them so close together, because now everyone had expectations you would have never been able to rise to.

And gods, why did they make your corset so tight?

The ballroom was alive, but no one paid much mind to you after the dinner. They were too preoccupied with dancing and drinking. You stepped onto the dance floor, when you were yanked into motion.

Simon swung you around, before pulling you into a dance. You already felt winded enough, and this certainly wasn’t helping. “Well, if isn’t the birthday girl herself. I should probably wish you a happy birthday, shouldn’t I?”

“Please, do not.”

“Why not? Are you not having a good time?” His twinkling eyes, and lazy grin made your heart race for some reason, and your breath hitch in your throat.

You tried to take a deep breath, but the corset squeezed, impeding on the simple action. You tried again, only this time it was more of a gasp for air.

His eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I can’t… I can’t breathe—“ You clawed at the neckline of the corset, trying to pull it and make some room, but it didn’t budge.

“Damn it, okay, hold on.” He suddenly spun you around, and without thinking, or acting with any caution whatsoever, grabbed the laces of your corset and tore them with a loud rip.