Page 49 of Throne Off Course

Harper shot her a deadly side-eye. “Oh, please. You should know.”

Emilia blinked. “Excuse me?”

Harper scoffed. “You spent weeks ranting about how much you couldn’t stand the prince, and now look at you.” She gestured dramatically with one hand. “Oh no, he’s so misunderstood. Oh no, he’s actually charming. Oh no, we danced at a party and now my heart palpitates.”

Emilia’s jaw dropped. “That’s not—”

Harper grinned, smug triumph in her eyes. “Please, you went from ‘I hate that pretentious royal’ to ‘actually, I’d quite like to climb him like a tree,’ so you don’t get to judge me for hating Sebastian.”

Silence. Emilia glared. Harper smirked.

Emilia groaned, slumping in her seat. “You are so annoying.”

“No, I’m just honest,” Harper said breezily, switching lanes. “But I am delighted that I’m no longer the only one suffering from an acute case of insufferable aristocrat infestation.”

Emilia huffed. “That’s not a thing.”

Harper grinned. “It is now.”

23

Alexander Has His Hot Prince Summer

Alexander had been trained for public appearances since childhood. He knew how to stand, how to smile, how to nod in just the right way that projected royal composure without seeming unapproachable.

He knew how to deflect, how to stay neutral, how to say everything and nothing in the same breath.

But lately, something had shifted.

The first event was a charity gala—polished, predictable, and packed with just enough cameras to remind him that every move he made would be analyzed. He expected the usual empty pleasantries.

What he didn’t expect was the very first reporter to grin at him and say, “Your Highness, I have to ask—how’s your dueling arm holding up?”

A ripple of amused laughter spread through the crowd.

Alexander blinked—just for a fraction of a second—before catching himself. In the past, he might have given a practiced smile and dismissed the question outright.

Instead, before he could stop himself, he smirked.

“Still intact,” he replied smoothly, adjusting his cuff. “Though I can’t say the same for my opponent’s ego.”

The crowd laughed, delighted.

The journalist grinned. “Poor Sebastian. Did he at least put up a fight?”

Alexander replied with amusement. “A respectable effort. But I do prefer a challenge.”

More laughter. More cameras flashing.

Sebastian, no doubt, would have a few choice words for him after this.

For the rest of the evening, the questions kept coming—some serious, some not. And for once, Alexander didn’t seem cold, detached, or burdened.

He still carried himself with the authority of a prince, but something had changed.

His smile wasn’t just for show.

His words carried sharper wit.