Chapter 3 An Existential Crisis in a Ballroom
An Existential Crisis in a Ballroom
Prince Alexander stood beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers, a glass of champagne in hand, listening to the same tired conversations he had heard a hundred times.
The ballroom was filled with politicians, foreign dignitaries, and noble families, all exchanging pleasantries and veiled power plays, their smiles as carefully polished as their expensive shoes.
Beside him, Queen Eleanor stood poised, watching the room as if she were conducting an invisible symphony. And next to her was Lady Genevieve Laurent. Perfect. Poised. Flawless. The woman who, by all accounts, should be his wife.
“Your Highness,” one of the noblewomen greeted, inclining her head to Alexander before turning to Genevieve with an all-too-knowing smile. “You look radiant this evening. Surely, it won’t be long before we hear an announcement?”
Genevieve, ever the diplomat, smiled graciously. “We’ll have to see what the future holds.”
Alexander sipped his champagne to keep from reacting. His mother’s gaze cut to him, a silent reminder, a command without needing words. This was his duty: to propose, to secure the future of the monarchy, to marry a woman who, while beautiful, made him feel absolutely nothing.
He had never questioned it before.
But tonight, standing in a gilded ballroom, watching history repeat itself in the faces of every arranged couple in attendance… Once again, he wondered: Is this it?
Another speech. Another round of applause. Another obligation.
The evening blurred into a choreographed nightmare of expected smiles, practiced responses, and careful positioning. Alexander barely spoke. Not that anyone seemed to notice. Or rather, they expected it. He was the dutiful prince. The future king who would do as he was told.
But as the night wore on, as Genevieve laughed politely at something dull Lord Ashford had said, as his mother whispered in hushed tones with foreign ministers, Alexander felt it, the walls closing in, the suffocating certainty that his life was nothing but a series of decisions that were already made for him.
“I see that look.”
Alexander glanced to his side at Lord Sebastian Hawthorne, Viscount of Edgecliffe, who stood looking far too pleased with himself.
While Alexander carried himself with regal bearing, his blue eyes ever watchful, Sebastian was the embodiment of a bored aristocrat, all loose limbs and relaxed posture, radiating warmth and easy charm without effort.
“What look?” Alexander muttered.
Sebastian took a slow sip of his drink, brown eyes twinkling with mischief. “The ‘I would rather be disemboweled by a decorative letter opener than spend one more minute pretending to enjoy myself’ look.”
Alexander exhaled sharply, half a laugh, half a sigh. “I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
Sebastian tilted his head, surveying the room.
“You know,” he mused, “if you were a lesser man, I’d say you should stage a scandal right now.
Give the gossip columnists something to work with.
Maybe grab a microphone, declare your undying love for Lord Ashford’s prized greyhound, announce an elopement. You know, really go all in.”
Alexander shot him a look.
Sebastian ignored it. “Or, hear me out, you could just challenge someone to a duel. Classic, dramatic, very on brand for a tragic royal. I’ll even volunteer. We can fake a fatal wound, you flee to the countryside, I get a week off to recover from my ‘injuries,’ and we both win.”
Alexander huffed a quiet laugh despite himself. “And people say you’re a terrible influence.”
Sebastian grinned. “I am a terrible influence. But look at you, still standing here, silently drowning in existential dread, instead of having any actual fun. A waste, really.”
Alexander shook his head, but Sebastian wasn’t wrong. This wasn’t living, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be the prince who followed every rule.
Genevieve had no intention of eavesdropping. Truly, she didn’t, but when Lord Sebastian Hawthorne was involved, it was difficult not to overhear some kind of scandalous nonsense.
And this time was no exception. She had just finished a polite conversation with a foreign diplomat when she caught the tail end of his latest ridiculous suggestion.
“…I’m just saying, if you fake a duel and disappear for a year, it would make an excellent chapter in your inevitable biography,” Sebastian was saying, far too pleased with himself.
Alexander sighed in exasperation but Genevieve noted with annoyance, he wasn’t entirely dismissing him. Typical.
“You really should stop encouraging him,” Genevieve said, stepping into view, her tone smooth but edged with disapproval.
Sebastian turned, flashing her a bright, wolfish grin. “Genevieve,” he said. “What a lovely surprise. Tell me, were you also contemplating an elaborate royal scandal, or are you still pretending to be a responsible adult?”
Genevieve arched a perfectly groomed brow. “I don’t have to pretend,” she said coolly.
Sebastian pressed a mock hand to his heart. “Tragic. I suppose that’s why you find me so entertaining, you get to live vicariously through my reckless choices.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I often dream of being a cautionary tale in the tabloids.”
Sebastian beamed. “You see? We have so much in common.”
Genevieve inhaled slowly, as if summoning the patience of a saint. Then, she turned to Alexander. “You let him get away with too much.”
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 how poetic 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, and completely 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.
The confrontation that changed everything came after history class, one of the few subjects Alexander actually enjoyed.
The assignment was straightforward: Write an essay on a past leader and assess their impact on the world today.
Alexander sat in the library, pen in hand, thinking it through carefully. His mind ran through the possibilities. There were so many past kings, reformers, politicians, figures who had reshaped the world. He wanted to choose wisely.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Sebastian muttered, watching him from across the room. “Only you could overthink this so much.”
Alexander ignored him.
“Want my advice, Your Highness?” Sebastian continued, tilting his chair back lazily. “Why not write about your father? Might remind you what a real king looks like instead of just waiting for more orders from Mummy.”
Alexander froze.
Sebastian looked on, clearly pleased with himself.
“Everyone knows it,” he went on, voice low and sharp, just for Alexander. “Your father was a legend. You? You’re just the quiet placeholder they’re forced to tolerate. Even this backwards little country deserves better than mummy’s little puppet.”
The pen in Alexander’s hand snapped.
A second later, his fist connected with Sebastian’s jaw.
Alexander didn’t remember moving one moment at his desk, the next watching Sebastian sprawl across the floor, blinking up at him with a dazed expression.
The entire library went dead silent.
A student dropped a book somewhere. Someone gasped.
Sebastian, sprawled out, wiped a trickle of blood from his lip and grinned like this was the best possible outcome. He looked satisfied?
That evening, Alexander found Sebastian sitting alone on the academy grounds, nursing a bruised jaw as the sunset cast long shadows across the manicured lawns.
“You hit harder than I expected,” Sebastian said without looking up.
Alexander stood stiffly. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”
“It was meant to be a result,” Sebastian replied cryptically.
Alexander frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Sebastian finally met his gaze, his usual sarcasm giving way to something quieter, rawer.
“I’ve been trying to get expelled since I arrived.”
Alexander stared at him. “You’re joking.”
Sebastian shrugged. “Figured getting into a fight with the crown prince would do it. Get me sent back to Paris to live with my uncle.”
Alexander let that sink in. “Your plan was to provoke me until I hit you?”
“More or less,” Sebastian admitted, stretching his arms behind his head.
“That,” Alexander said slowly, in complete disbelief, “might be the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”
Sebastian tilted his head in mock consideration. “Says the prince who just punched me in front of twenty witnesses.”
Alexander exhaled sharply, almost laughing.
“They won’t expel you for this,” he said. “They’ll blame it on me, say it’s due to royal pressure, diplomatic tensions, whatever story keeps the palace happy.”
Sebastian groaned. “So I’m still stuck here.”
“In this ‘pathetic’ excuse for a school? Yes.” Alexander’s tone was dry, but not unkind. “Besides, your father is Lord Hawthorne, he’s one of the most powerful politicians in the country. The school won’t want to risk getting on his bad side either.”
Sebastian let out a short, humorless laugh. “Great. So we’re both prisoners of our family names.” He paused, his shoulders sagging. “At least you get to be king,” he muttered. “I’m just going to be whatever my father deems appropriate for his disappointment of a son.”
Alexander hesitated, then offered something he hadn’t admitted to anyone before.
“I’m not sure my mother has high hopes for me these days either.”
Sebastian’s head turned slightly, a flicker of genuine interest crossing his expression.
“Another thing we have in common, then.”
For the first time, the silence between them was not tense, but easy, the first breath of understanding between two boys who had more similarities than either would have cared to admit.
In the weeks that followed, Sebastian’s edges seemed less sharp, his anger less raw. And Alexander found himself appreciating the one person at Thornfield who had never treated him like a prince first and a person second.
Alexander valued loyalty, but what he valued even more was authenticity. And Sebastian Hawthorne, for all his flaws, had that in spades.