Page 5 of Throne Off Course

Alexander, who had been watching this exchange like a spectator at a fencing match, finally sipped his drink. “He’s not entirely wrong,” he said mildly. “A scandal would make things more interesting.”

Genevieve’s lips pressed together. It was a joke. She knew it was a joke, and yet, it irritated her all the same.

She stepped closer to Alexander, lowering her voice slightly. “There are enough whispers about you already,” she said, measured, deliberate. “Your mother expects you to move forward with the engagement. She won’t tolerate distractions forever.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Oh, Genevieve, I never realized howpoetic your relationship with Alexander is. Destined, dutiful, full of grand expectations. Truly a romance for the ages.”

Genevieve ignored him. Sebastian had a reputation as charming, roguish, completely insufferable. The kind of man who drifted through life with no real purpose, coasting on family wealth and an almost supernatural ability to avoid responsibility, everything Alexander, with his cool reserve and love of order, was not.

And yet, Alexander kept him around, perhaps the only thing about him that she had never fully understood.

* * *

What Genevieve failed to understand was just how lonely it was being the prince. Alexander rarely met anyone who wasn’t trying to get something from him, a favor, some notoriety, access to power.

Even at Thornfield Academy the centuries-old institution that had molded Caledonia’s future rulers, politicians, and power players Alexander James Edward had always been a prince first, a person second.

Every interaction carried the weight of calculation, expectation, and scrutiny.

His classmates treated him with a strange mix of deference and distance. Some tried to befriend him out of ambition, eager to secure favor with the future king. Others simply kept away, unsure how to approach royalty without committing some grave offense.

And then there was Sebastian Hawthorne.

Sebastian had arrived at Thornfield Academy at age eleven, already fluent in sarcasm, unimpressed by titles, andcompletely uninterested in making friends.

Everyone had heard the rumors, Sebastian’s parents had separated years ago and he’d been living with his mother in Paris. After her recent death, his father had brought him to Caledonia.

“This is what passes for education here?”he’d remarked during their first maths lesson, loud enough for the entire class to hear. His gaze flicked to Alexander with deliberate disdain.“We covered this last term at my school in Paris. Pathetic.”

Where others carefully circled Alexander, Sebastian charged headfirst into his orbit, fully prepared to knock planets out of alignment.

Their encounters in the oak-paneled hallways inevitably ended in verbal sparring matches that left onlookers both entertained and horrified.

During a particularly tedious literature class, Sebastian had slid a note across Alexander’s desk.Do they teach this slowly just for you, Your Highness?

Alexander had written back:No, they’re accommodating the new French transfer student. I hear he’s a bit slow.

Sebastian’s lips curled in appreciation. Alexander returned the expression. They both knew what it meant. Recognition. A worthy opponent.

“Don’t you ever get tired of everyone treating you like you’re made of glass, Your Highness?” Sebastian asked one afternoon, leaning lazily against the wall outside the fencing hall.

Alexander gave him a cool glance. “About as tired as you must be of reminding everyone how much you hate it here.”

Sebastian’s confident expression faltered for half a second before returning twice as sharp.

“I didn’t ask to be dragged back to this rain-soaked island you call a country.” His voice was light, but there was a tension beneath it. “The moment I turn eighteen, I’m gone.”

Alexander’s tone was deliberate, crisp, and infuriatingly pleasant. “Fantastic. Let me know the exact date so I can personally throw a parade. It’ll be the first time the entire school agrees on something.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. Alexander smiled.

Their rivalry escalated everywhere: in class, on the fencing grounds, in the dining hall beneath the judging eyes of portraits depicting alumni who had gone on to rule nations.

“I don’t care who you are,” Sebastian announced after besting Alexander in a fencing match, flipping up his mask to reveal a triumphant grin. “If you want to win, you’ll have to earn it like everyone else.”

Alexander gripped his foil so tightly his knuckles turned white. The urge to throw it at Sebastian’s perfectly smug face was intense.

Over weeks, the tension mounted. Each exchange grew sharper, each barb more personal. Their clashes became legendary, with younger students instinctively scrambling out of the way when they saw Alexander and Sebastian approaching from opposite ends of a corridor.