“You get to fight for something real. No masks, no tabloids, no bullshit. Just purpose.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, staring at the swirling gold in my glass. “But it comes at a price.”
Silence falls again, thick and honest.
I look across at Sebastian, watching him sip champagne like it’s apple juice. Cool, collected, effortlessly royal. But I know better.
We met when he was just another guy thrown into a uniform and told to serve the crown with dignity. Except the difference was, he was the crown. Or at least the next best thing. A real-life prince, dumped in a war zone where bullets don’t care about your bloodline.
They told us to keep his ass safe.
Turns out, he didn’t need much babysitting.
The guy adapted faster than I expected. No whining. No diva fits. He learned how to shoot, run, and stay alive. That earned my respect faster than his little golden crest ever could. And during those fourteen months, we bonded. Trained together. Fought side by side. Shared stories over terrible rations and worse coffee. He even started snoring during patrol naps. Human, after all.
I remember sneaking in some late-night reading on him after a mission. Couldn’t help it; wanted to know who the hell I was risking my ass for. Their royal lineage reads like an epic. Traditions older than some countries. It was… fascinating. And yeah, an honor. How many guys can say they’ve got a prince in their contacts under Bastard Seb?
But I wouldn’t trade places with him for anything.
Someone ruling over my choices? No thanks. I’ve had enough of that with my own family pushing, shoving, shaping me into something they wanted. I grew out of their grip the moment they sent me to the military academy. Being told what to do, who to love, what to be? That’s a curse worse than a battlefield.
I shake my head, brushing off the weight creeping in. Time to lighten the mood.
“So…” I roll my glass in my hand. “Why the hell are you going to Melbourne again?”
Sebastian sighs dramatically, leaning his head against the seat like I just asked him to march through sand for five miles. “The royal family needs to make an appearance. PR, goodwill, smile-and-wave bullshit. You know, the usual.”
I arch a brow. “Fun.”
He smirks. “Wanna come with? I’ll get you a suit. Or a sword. Whatever fits your vibe.”
I down the rest of my champagne in one go. “Nope. They cannot know I’m back. Not yet.”
Sebastian raises a suspicious brow. “Right, right…” Then his grin turns wolfish. “You need to get your dick wet first.”
I bark out a laugh, loud enough the hostess peeks her head around before vanishing again. “Subtle, your Highness.”
“I try.” He lifts his glass in mock salute. “So, how’s she look like?”
“She’s a bombshell,” I admit before I can stop myself. Just the thought of Amanda makes me smile. I met her online—innocent chats that turned into late-night messages, which turned into something more than I expected. Lust.
Sebastian perks up. “Is she waiting for you?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I haven’t told her I’m back.”
His eyes go wide, hand pausing mid-air with his glass. “What?”
I shrug, suddenly unsure. “I dunno. I just… I want to see her. Not talk about it. Not prep for it. Just… show up.”
Sebastian whistles low. “So you’re planning on showing up out of the blue? Like a war-hardened prince charming?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Saying it out loud makes me realize how dumb it might sound. My mouth pulls into a crooked smile anyway.
He snorts. “Well, good luck, man. Hope she doesn’t mace you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a woman tried to knock me out.”
