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Christopher's POV.
The snow had followed us from Oxford all the way to London. Sheets of it lashed against the windows as Penelope and I drove into the familiar halls of gold and marble. The palace gates loomed through the flurry, gold and iron curling like something out of a fairy tale. Normally, the sight made me feel at home. Safe. But tonight, I walked through those gates with only one thought in my head: her, Felicity.
Every second since that kiss on the bridge had been torture. Her laugh, her eyes, her lips soft against mine—it haunted me. Even now, my fingers twitched like they could still feel her waist.
"Step one," I muttered under my breath as Penelope and I climbed the marble stairs. "The road trip. Check."
"What's step two?" Penny asked with a smirk.
I ran a hand down my face. "A long walk through Oxford's hidden streets. Laughter chasing away the shadows. Check also."
"Lovely plan," she teased. "Shame you're already failing."
Before I could answer, the palace doors swung open. And there she was. Mia. Draped in silk, acting like she owned the place. Of course she was there—lounging on the velvet sofa in the grand salon, scrolling her phone with a smirk.
"Christopher," she purred, rising to her feet like she'd been waiting hours just for this moment. "Home at last. I missed you."
I barely glanced at her. "Not now, Mia."
Her smile sharpened. "No? Not even…me?" She pouted, brushing invisible dust from my lapel. "You don't have to pretend with me. I know what Felicity is, Christopher. Temporary. A distraction. But me? I'm permanent. I belong here. With you."
Her perfume was suffocating. All I could see in my mind was Felicity—her laugh, her blush when Penelope teased us, the way her lips trembled just before I kissed her.
I stepped back. "You'll never be her, Mia. Not now. Not ever."
Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, don't be like that. I know you miss me."
"In your dreams," I muttered.
Before she could fire back, Penelope cleared her throat. "Wow. Tense much? Someone get the popcorn, because this is about to get messy."
I shot her a look. She only grinned.
"Wait, am I chopped liver? I'm standing right here. Hello, Mia," Penelope said, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, hi, Penelope. How are you?" Mia asked, matching her tone.
"Oh, save it. I don't need your greeting—or your fake concern," Penelope shot back.
"Then why did you ask?" Mia snapped.
"Because I was being polite. Something you clearly aren't or wouldn't understand," Penelope retorted.
I chuckled under my breath. The truth was, while Mia fluttered her lashes and played her games, I only saw one face. Felicity's. One laugh. One kiss. One girl.
I kept walking. If Mia wanted a war, fine. Let her scheme. But I had my own plan. Sleep? Forget it. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the echo of her lips on mine burning me alive. One kiss. One bloody, endless, messy kiss—and my chest had been on fire ever since.
Step one: show up for her. Check.
Step two: try not to lose my mind. Check.
Step three: be the kind of man she can't stop thinking about. Check.
Now step four: make her laugh until she forgets Theo or Alex—whatever his name was. That was my plan. But tonight? Tonight, I was at home in the palace.
I couldn't sleep. I turned my pillows, counted sheep, even stared at the ceiling until my eyes hurt. The palace was quiet. My little twins and Penny were already asleep, and my parents hadn't come home yet. Mia was probably in the parlor—or maybe not. I didn't care. All I could think about was her laugh… and that kiss.
So I got up, pulled on a coat, and went outside. I needed air. The garden felt cold but peaceful. The wind touched my face, and the stars looked sharp above the hedges. I walked until the stone path blurred beneath my feet.
When my parents finally came home, I was in the front hall, warming my hands. My mother hugged me softly, like she always did. My father just nodded and went straight to his study. I followed him—because I couldn't keep this to myself anymore.
I followed my father into the study and closed the door behind me. The fire crackled softly. Outside, the palace was quiet and dark, but inside, the room felt warm and serious.
He sat down, his hands folded on the desk. He didn't have to ask what was wrong—his face already showed that he knew more than I wanted him to.
He looked at me and waited. My father had a way of seeing through everything until only the truth was left.
"So," he said, folding his hands, "what's on your mind? What's going on with you and that girl—what's her name again?"
"Felicity," I said softly. "She's the love of my life."
"Oh, is that so?" he asked, raising a brow. "Remember, I gave you one week. Any progress?"
I took a breath and started at the beginning — not the very beginning, but the part that mattered. I spoke simply because the truth didn't need fancy words.
"Father," I said quietly. "I know it's one week, but things have been happening for the past month. Felicity started to like me at matriculation, but Alex—or Theo, whatever his name is—ruined it for me. She's not like anyone I've known. She's loud when she needs to be, kind when it counts, and brave in ways that surprise me. She's… different. She's messy, honest, loud, and softer than she lets on. She made me laugh when I didn't want to. She was there when everything else felt loud and stupid."
He listened — he always did. My father sat quietly, watching me the way he always did, like he was weighing every word. I kept my voice steady. The truth didn't need decoration.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is this about Alex? The other boy?"
"Yes," I said, running a hand through my hair. "He's complicated. Charming. We had this two-week plan — her idea. Alex got his turn first, and I promised to wait. But she's not a prize or a game; she just wanted fairness. I kept my distance. Then he kissed her at the cinema, and I—stupidly, messily—kissed her too. Everything spun out of control after that. Then Alex crossed a line in his dorm room. He tried something that wasn't right. I found them and fought him. It got ugly. It stormed. I even tracked her phone because I couldn't stand the thought of someone hurting her when I wasn't there. I know that was wrong, but I did it out of fear of losing her to something darker. After that, I drove her away. I tried to make the next two weeks simple for her—road trips, walks, quiet moments. I wanted to make her laugh until she forgot the past."
I paused for breath, my chest tight. "Alex—Theo, as it turns out—has history with her. He hurt her before, came back, and stirred everything up again. Then Mia made things worse. She spread rumors that there was someone else in Felicity's room, but it was me. She fueled the chaos. The whole college turned against us. People whispered, took photos, and twisted everything into stories that weren't true. Felicity finally snapped—she stood up and hit Mia in front of everyone. Alex punched me. Penelope tried to hold things together, but it was a mess."
I exhaled slowly. The weight of every memory sat heavy in my chest. Saying it out loud made everything real.
My father's jaw tightened. He didn't interrupt. He let me keep going.
My voice went small. "Still, when I kissed her on the bridge, it was different. She didn't pull away. She stayed. That means something. I know it does."
My father's eyes hardened. The firelight caught the sharp edge of his jaw.
"So you fought him. You tracked her phone. You let rumors spread and still claim this is love?" His voice was calm—too calm. The kind that made my stomach twist.
"Yes, Father," I said quietly. "Because I couldn't let her get hurt."
He leaned forward. "You think love is about chasing storms and throwing punches? You think tracking someone's phone proves devotion? That's not love, Christopher. That's chaos."
I dropped my eyes. The silence between us felt heavy.
"I'm not fighting to win a contest," I said finally. "I'm fighting because I love her. I want to make her laugh until the past doesn't hurt. I want to prove I'm steady. Two weeks isn't the whole story—it's just the start. But I'll use every day to show her she's safe with me."
He sighed, low and tired. "You're a prince. You don't get to lose control over emotions. Not in public, not in private. You want her? Then protect her with respect, not recklessness."
I nodded slowly. "I understand."
His eyes were on me now, softer but still careful. "You expect me to believe she loves you?"
"I do," I said without hesitation. "I know she does. She's scared because of what's happened to her before. She's angry because of lies and because men keep deciding for her. But what she's shown me—the way she looks at me when she thinks no one's watching, the way she clings to me when she's frightened—that's not obligation. That's not duty. That's not pity. It's real. Real love."
He leaned back, eyes softening. "You sound certain."
"I am," I said. "She loves me, Father. Maybe she won't admit it yet, but I feel it. I know it. And I'll keep showing her—step by step."
My father steepled his fingers. For a long moment, he said nothing.
"You've always been reckless with your heart," he said at last, but his tone wasn't just scolding. "If you're sure, then don't stumble through it. Show her what you promise."
"I will," I said. "I'll make her want a life with me, not because I'm a prince, but because I'm me—because I'm Christopher standing in front of her every day."
He nodded once. "Then don't waste breath on noise. Do what you say you will do."
He studied me, then nodded again. "Good. Then prove it. You have two weeks before the Winter Ball. Two weeks to show me—and her—that you mean it. Love her without turning it into a fight. Don't make a fool of yourself. Fail that, and I'll keep my word—you'll marry Mia. I know Mia is doing this because she loves you. She's just trying to get your attention, so if things don't work out with Felicity, you'll marry her. That is final."
"I won't," I said. I left the study with my plan burning in my chest.
I left feeling smaller and fiercer at the same time. The plan hadn't changed—show up, don't lose my head, make her laugh, make her choose me. The night was cold, and the palace was full of shadows. But for the first time since that kiss, sleep felt possible.
That night, I didn't sleep right away. I stood at my window and watched the snow make the palace soft and distant. I thought of all the small things about her—the way she said my name, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the laughter that felt like a promise.
I went to bed exhausted but certain. Before sleep took me, I rolled onto my side and whispered into the dark, as if the night could carry it to her:
I will show you every day why you can trust me. I will make you laugh until the past feels small. I will make you mine in the way that matters. And with that, at last, I fell into a sleep full of one quiet, stubborn hope.