Chapter 7: Chapter Seven

**Alexander**

I stepped into the king’s private study—an ornate library filled with centuries-old leather-bound tomes and the lingering smell of polished wood. Despite the dim glow of antique lamps, every corner of the room seemed to reflect my father’s imposing presence. He was seated behind his desk, perfectly upright, wearing the same expression I’d seen whenever someone in the royal staff committed a grave offense. Unfortunately, this time, that someone was me.

“Alexander,” he said, not bothering to stand. His gaze was cold and unwavering. “Close the door.”

I swallowed, pushing it shut behind me with a soft click. Moving closer, I fought the urge to straighten my jacket. If there was one person in this world who could rip me to shreds without raising his voice, it was my father.

“I assume you’re aware,” he continued, lacing his fingers together, “of the embarrassment you caused at yesterday’s forum.”

I cleared my throat, trying to keep my composure. “Father, with all due respect, I was only defending—”

He shook his head, cutting me off. “I’m not interested in excuses. Tell me precisely what happened.”

What else could I do but explain? “During the Q&A session, an Italian guest—he’s the President’s son—accused me of faking our environmental policies. Called them ‘hypocritical’ in front of the cameras. I had to respond. You taught me never to stand by silently when the monarchy is insulted.”

His eyes narrowed. “And did I also teach you to lose your temper in front of an international audience?”

I bristled. “I didn’t lose my temper. He provoked me—”

“Provocation is no excuse.” My father’s voice remained quiet, but each word felt like a lash. “A king—or a future king—must remain in control, no matter who throws verbal barbs. By allowing yourself to appear rattled, you gave him exactly what he wanted.” He exhaled slowly. “You made our kingdom look foolish.”

My jaw clenched. “He said horrible things about our efforts, Father. I couldn’t stand there—”

“That’s precisely what you should have done.” He held up a hand to silence me, then stood, crossing the space between us. His gaze bored into mine, more disappointed than furious. “Sweden’s monarchy prides itself on dignity, tact, and grace under pressure. You betrayed each of those principles with your outburst. So did he, but you, as Crown Prince, should have known better.”

A jolt of shame raced through me. I wanted to argue that I’d simply defended our honor, but I knew better. “Yes, Father,” I said tightly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He stepped back, returning to the desk. “I have received communications from Italy—nothing overly formal, but they are concerned. The press is already spinning it into a petty feud between our nations.”

I nodded, swallowing the urge to protest that he’d started it. *Focus, Alexander. You’ve done enough damage already.*

“I’ve arranged,” my father continued, “for you to take part in a new charity initiative: a series of environmental visits from here in Sweden, through the Bavarian Forest in Germany, and then to certain coastal areas of Italy. You’ll visit reforestation sites, study cross-border ecosystem management, and represent us in collaborative efforts with local governments. It will also serve,” he added pointedly, “as your penance.”

I felt my stomach drop. “You want me to leave the country?”

“Immediately after we make the official announcement,” he said. “The idea is to show that Sweden, Germany, and Italy can collaborate on green policies. You’ll take part in planting seedlings, surveying wildlife habitats, and promoting eco-tourism as a sustainable approach. If you succeed, the public may be impressed by your resilience and commitment.”

I opened my mouth, but the words got stuck in my throat. On one hand, I believed in environmental work; on the other, it felt painfully obvious this was also punishment.

My father walked around the desk and placed a hand on my shoulder. His voice softened. “Alexander, this isn’t just about cleaning up a scandal. The monarchy’s role in modern times is about forging strong global relationships as much as it is about tradition. Consider this an opportunity to salvage your image—our image—and prove you’re capable of moving past one misstep.”

Resentment mingled with a flicker of guilt. *He’s right.* That shame from the day before, when I allowed myself to be rattled, twisted in my chest. I nodded stiffly.

“So you’ll do it?” he asked.

“Yes,” I forced out. “Of course, Father.”

“Good.” He withdrew his hand. “Then I believe we’ve covered everything.”

I bowed my head, stepping back. Even though I loathed the thought of smiling for reporters, part of me realized I’d brought this on myself by not keeping it together. Still, that didn’t stop anger from simmering in my gut.

“Is there anything else?” he prompted, resuming his formal posture.

“I—” I hesitated. “No, Your Majesty.”

He gave a slight nod. “Very well. You’re dismissed.”

It felt cold, that abrupt ending, but that was typical of Father when he decided the discussion was over. *I guess we’re done here*. I turned toward the door, each step echoing in the hushed study. Halfway out, I paused, pressing my lips together. I wanted to say something else, something that would soften the tension, but the King was already seated at his desk, busy with a stack of documents.

Without another word, I left.

I practically stormed down the corridor, ignoring the curious glances of staff members who scrambled to bow or move aside. My mind reeled: traveling across three countries to “clean up my mess.” Sure, reforestation projects and wildlife surveys might be interesting in theory, but it was also painfully obvious this was punishment.

At last, I reached my quarters, slammed the door, and exhaled hard. My phone buzzed with notifications—media outlets still chattering about yesterday’s fiasco. I tossed the device onto my bed as if it were on fire. The last thing I wanted right now was more reminders of how I’d failed the “perfect prince” persona everyone expected.

I paced back and forth, swallowing down a surge of frustration. He accused me of faking our policies. *He made me look naive.* But Father was right: I should’ve kept my composure. Instead, I’d practically handed him the chance to steal the show.

Now, I was saddled with this cross-Europe charity tour. The Bavarian Forest, then Italy. I’d have to flash a diplomatic smile, say the right words, appear contrite—even if everything inside me screamed. Sure, I cared about the environment, but the idea of being forced to pose for cameras after that humiliating scene made my blood boil.

A memory flickered of his smirk under the conference lights—how one corner of his mouth curved in that infuriating way, as if he could see right through me.

If I ever see that asshole again, I’ll give the press a real reason to gossip. It’s ridiculous to think I had the chance to punch him—in private, no cameras—and instead, we ended up kissing! Well, *he* kissed *me*; I didn’t exactly kiss him back. I’d rather stick hot needles in my eyes than ever see that smug face again.

I took a steadying breath, letting my eyes drift shut. This was my new reality: a forced partnership of sorts, a traveling environmental campaign spanning from Sweden to Germany and then on to Italy. At least it would keep me away from here—and from Leonardo’s lingering presence.

A single thought teased the back of my mind: *What if he was right—what if I’m just another spoiled figurehead with nothing to say? I’ve never left the castle walls. I know nothing about the real world…* I shoved it away. I had no time for self-doubt.

I would’ve loved to see him do any of this! I bet I’ll find Mr. Know-it-all at the finish line, sipping limoncello. I’m going to make him swallow that smirk when he sees what I’ve accomplished.

A flicker of anticipation tickled my stomach. If we ended up in the same place again, there was no telling how my stupid emotions might react.The memory of his hands on me, his hot breath brushing my ear, and those soft, wet lips devouring mine….

I pulled open my closet, rummaging for a jacket. Tomorrow, I’d begin preparing for the trip. My father would make the official announcement soon, and I’d have to plaster on a dutiful smile. But I couldn’t shake the uneasy mix of dread and excitement coiling in my stomach—like I was stepping onto a stage I’d promised never to revisit.

*Fine*, I told myself, clenching my jaw. *Let the world see. This time, I’ll be ready.*

And if he crossed my path again... I’d show him what I’m truly capable of.