Page 3 of Throne Off Course

Emilia exhaled. “It does.”

“But…?”

Emilia hesitated before setting down her teacup. “But I don’t want to be impressed by any of them.”

Harper grinned, but there was understanding beneath it. “Tough luck, darling. You’re about to spend weeks locked in a room with a prince whose face has been declared a ‘national treasure’ by multiple tabloids. If you survive without falling at least a little in love with the drama of it all, I’ll be forced to assume you’re a robot.”

Emilia shook her head, but she laughed despite herself. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harper’s look turned sly. “Speaking of which… have you actually researched the prince himself? I mean, beyond the history of his bloodline?”

Emilia arched a brow. “You’re the journalist with all the palace connections. What do you actually know about him?”

Harper tilted her head as if considering it, then replied. “He’s cold. Emotionally repressed. Devastatingly handsome and his best friend is pretty much a perpetual scandal machine.”

Emilia blinked. “That’s it?”

“Well, I could write a think piece about his mother’s iron grip on the throne or his dutifully boring reputation, but honestly? That’s all anyone really knows. He plays his cards close, Emmy. Even I can’t tell if there’s an actual person under all that royal polish or just a well-trained political robot.” Harper took another sip of her latte. “Although, based on the way he glowers at people, I suspect he’s at least seventy percent repressed feelings and simmering existential dread.”

Emilia considered that. “That’s a little sad.”

“That’s monarchy, babe.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Harper steamrolled rightover her. “Anyway,farmore important, let’s talk aesthetics. Have youseenhis GQ spread? Because Emmy, I am begging you, before you march into the palace and start calling his ancestors tyrannical war criminals to his face, at least appreciate the jawline.”

Emilia groaned. “Absolutely not.”

Harper grinned knowingly as she pulled out her phone. “Famous last words, Emmy.”

* * *

An hour later, Emilia sat in the grand, austere offices of the Royal Historical Institute, her earlier levity replaced by professional tension. Dr. Langley, a silver-haired academic with sharp eyes, didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“You already know why we want you,” he said, sliding a folder across the table. “We need someone working with the royal family on this exhibition who can make history come alive, someone who can connect it to the public in a way that actually matters.”

Emilia picked up the folder, flipping through the pages with growing astonishment. This wasn’t just any project, it was a full-scale historical exhibition on the House of Caledonia, one of the most powerful monarchies in Europe. The scope alone was staggering.

And then, at the bottom of the page, came an even more startling detail.

She looked up, pulse quickening. “This says I’d be overseeing the entire thing.”

Langley nodded. “Pending the end of the semester, yes. The position would begin officially in June.”

Her mouth went dry. This was the kind of career-making opportunity people waited decades for. But there was a problem. A very specific, very royal problem.

Her eyes flicked to the next line.Direct Palace Liaison: Prince Alexander James Edward of Caledonia.The future king.

She closed the folder, releasing a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Harper was right. She was going to be in big trouble.

3

An Existential Crisis in a Ballroom

Prince Alexander stood beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers, a glass of champagne in hand, listening to the same tired conversations he had heard a hundred times. The ballroom was filled with politicians, foreign dignitaries, and noble families, all exchanging pleasantries and veiled power plays, their smiles as carefully polished as their expensive shoes.

Beside him, Queen Eleanor stood poised, watching the room as if she were conducting an invisible symphony. And next to her was Lady Genevieve Laurent. Perfect. Poised. Flawless. The woman who, by all accounts, should be his wife.

“Your Highness,” one of the noblewomen greeted, inclining her head to Alexander before turning to Genevieve with an all-too-knowing smile. “You look radiant this evening. Surely, it won’t be long before we hear an announcement?”