The palace had thrown you into a whirlwind the moment your name started circling after the service you’d done for Gilboa. One day you were just doing your job, and the next you were being paraded as some symbol of national loyalty, the kind the press and king both loved. Which is how you ended up standing in front of a gilded mirror in one of the palace suites, hands awkward at your sides, while Jack Benjamin circled you like a tailor who’d been given too much champagne.

“God, you’re hopeless,” Jack said, tugging at your collar with unnecessary flair. He smirked as he pulled the fabric too tight and then loosened it again, clearly enjoying himself more than you were. “Do you even own an iron? Or do you wake up every morning, look in the mirror, and think—‘Yes. Wrinkles. That’s the look I’m going for’?”

You rolled your eyes, but Jack was already spinning around to rummage through a rack of suits the palace staff had rolled in. “You’re representing Gilboa now. That means you don’t get to look like you just crawled out of some gutter.”

The truth was, Jack was good at this. He moved with an effortless confidence, stepping close to adjust the cuffs, tug at your sleeves, fix your posture with a tap to your shoulders. Every correction came with another quip: “Lift your chin; you’re not begging for scraps,” or “Yes, that’s better. A little dignity never killed anyone.”

The way he talked, you could almost forget the sharp edge beneath the charm. Almost. He was grinning, laughing under his breath, playing the role of the glamorous prince who had everything under control. But there was something about the speed with which he threw out the jokes that made you wonder what he’s trying to prove.

Finally, he stepped back, clapped his hands together, and gave you an exaggerated bow. “Look at that, Gilboa’s newest darling, no longer a disaster. My work here is done. When they write about you in the papers tomorrow, they’ll say: ‘Stunning, thanks entirely to the prince’s intervention.’ I’ll take full credit, obviously.”

You shook your head, but you couldn’t stop the faint smile tugging at your lips. Jack caught it instantly, smirk widening as if that had been his real goal all along.

“Don’t look so grateful,” he teased, already reaching for a drink on the side table. “I don’t do this out of the goodness of my heart. I do it because if you embarrass yourself out there, it reflects on me.” He raised his glass in mock salute before downing it.