Page 62 of Throne Off Course

The first time they met in secret, it had been an accident. Or at least, that’s what they told themselves.

Alexander had been leaving a late-night strategy meeting, exhausted, suffocating under the weight of a dozen voices telling him who he needed to be. Meanwhile, Emilia had been working late in the archives, scribbling notes furiously, lost in research.

He found her in the dim glow of the old study, ink smudged on her fingertips, a strand of hair falling from her loose bun. She looked up, startled, their eyes locking in the hush of the moment.

They should have walked away.

Instead, they stayed.

A few whispered words. A stolen glance. And then—just like that—he was leaning in.

Her back hit the bookshelf as he kissed her, hands bracing on either side of her like he needed to trap himself here just as much as he needed to trap her. She returned his kiss with the certainty of someone embracing a mistake they’d already chosen to make.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, she whispered, “That was reckless.”

“It was and I loved it,” he smirked, pressing his forehead to hers.

And that was how it began.

They weren’t careless—not exactly. But the palace was a place of eyes and whispers, and stolen moments were the best they could afford.

A week later, she had been pulling a book from a high shelf when she felt his presence behind her.

“You’re late,” she whispered without turning.

“I was being a responsible future king,” he murmured, stepping closer. “It was awful.”

“Did the responsibilities of the monarchy make you miss me?” She asked with her voice full of teasing.

A beat of silence.

And then his lips were at the curve of her jaw, trailing down to her throat, slow, deliberate.

“Every second,” he admitted against her skin.

She melted against the shelves, damn him.

* * *

They weren’t supposed to be here.

Alexander reached the rooftop first. As he helped her onto the cool stone ledge, the city unfurled below them—a sprawling kingdom of lights.

“If anyone finds us, we’ll be headlines by morning,” she whispered, breathless from the climb. She shivered, wrappingher arms around herself. He didn’t hesitate, shrugging off his perfectly tailored royal jacket and draping it over her shoulders.

“Alexander—”

“Shh,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thomas says we don’t have long and so I thought we might try something different tonight.”

Alexander uncorked a bottle of wine he’d brought up—a deep red that looked even darker in the moonlight as he poured it.

“Different?”

“A trade.” His eyes met hers over the rim of his glass. “One secret for another.”

Emilia studied him, intrigued despite herself. “Secrets? That sounds dangerous for someone in your position.”

“Probably.” He didn’t deny it. “But I’m tired of carefully edited conversations, and I suspect you are too.”