Chapter 22 How to Wake Up and Immediately Regret Everything
How to Wake Up and Immediately Regret Everything
Emilia was too warm.
Which was a problem.
Her bed wasn’t this comfortable. It had a distinct “I bought this mattress on sale during my broke college years” quality to it.
Something was wrong.
Her eyes snapped open, and the world tilted unpleasantly as she bolted upright.
Not her bed. Not her room.
Panic surged as she took in her surroundings.
The sheets were obnoxiously soft. The curtains hung heavy and rich, while the walls gleamed pristine, polished, expensive.
And then—
Alexander.
Not in the bed.
Sitting on a chair in the corner, arms crossed, appearing irritatingly composed for someone who had spent the night sleeping upright in a hard-backed chair.
He wasn’t even glancing at her, instead flipping casually through a book as if this was a completely normal morning and not a deeply concerning one where she had somehow woken up in an unfamiliar bedroom with the Crown Prince of Caledonia in the room.
At her sudden movement, he glanced up. “Ah. You’re awake.”
Emilia stared at him.
Then at herself.
Still fully clothed, her dress, even her shoes still on.
Okay. That was… good. That was reassuring.
Still, nausea churned in her stomach, mingling with something far worse—dread.
She swallowed hard. “Did we—?”
Alexander didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, we did. And can I just say, it was spectacular.”
Her stomach dropped.
Then his mouth twitched.
Emilia grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at his head. “You—”
Alexander caught it effortlessly, his expression far too pleased. “Assaulting the Crown Prince? Treason, I believe.”
“I’m glad you’re so amused.”
“Immensely.”
She groaned, squeezing her temples as if she could physically push out the headache pulsing there. “Okay. So if we didn’t—” she waved vaguely at the bed “—then why am I here?”
Alexander shut his book, setting it on the table beside him. “Ah, well. That would be thanks to Sebastian’s party and your incredibly poor life choices.”
Emilia gaped. “My—what?”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, practically radiating smugness. “Apparently, no one told you the cardinal rule of Sebastian’s parties.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Which is?”
“Never drink the punch.”
Emilia stared at him.
Alexander nodded solemnly. “And if you do, definitely don’t have more than one glass.”
A horrible, sinking feeling settled in her stomach. “…How many did I have?”
“I’m not entirely sure but I think at least three.”
She cradled her face in her hands, wishing that she could just disappear. “Oh, god.”
“Mmhmm.”
She suddenly looked up at him quizzically. “Okay. That explains why I don’t remember getting here. But it doesn’t explain why you didn’t just put me in a cab.”
Alexander gave a half-shrug. “I don’t actually know where you live.”
Emilia opened her mouth, then shut it. Okay. Fair.
“But you have people who can figure that out.”
Alexander raised an eyebrow. “You would have preferred that I alert palace staff to the fact that you accidentally passed out at a party with me?”
“I—” She stopped, frowning. “No, that sounds worse, actually.”
Alexander nodded. “Hence, Sebastian’s house, and I had a feeling you’d wake up and think you’d been abducted.”
Emilia hesitated, trying to process that. “So you… slept in a chair? Like, all night?”
Alexander shrugged, stretching slightly. “Sebastian’s other guest rooms were occupied, and I figured being seen on a couch by random partygoers wouldn’t be… ideal.”
Before she could overthink it, Alexander’s expression softened with amusement. “Besides, if I did go home, Sebastian would have had way too much fun messing with you about what may or may not have happened between us.”
Emilia buried her face in her hands. “Oh, god. You’re right. He’d have convinced me we eloped, wouldn’t he?”
Alexander tilted his head, eyes bright with quiet humor. “Bare minimum, yes.”
She sighed deeply. “Great. So we’re both here, and we have no idea where Sebastian is.”
“Exactly.”
Emilia ran a hand over her face. “We need to find him before he tells people I passed out in his house and you were lurking in the corner like some disapproving chaperone.”
Alexander’s lips quirked upward. “That’s exactly what I was doing.”
Emilia glared. “Not helping.”
Alexander stood, rolling his shoulders slightly from what was clearly an uncomfortable night. “Come on. Let’s find Sebastian.”
Emilia paused, suddenly hopeful. “Does he at least wake up late?”
Alexander checked the clock, his expression almost pitying. “Not late enough.”
Emilia moaned. “He’s going to be insufferable.”
And with that, they stepped into the hallway, in search of their host.
* * *
They found Sebastian in a sun-drenched breakfast nook, lounging at the table like a cat who’d found the perfect patch of sunlight.
He looked utterly unbothered, which was deeply unfair considering Emilia felt like she had survived a natural disaster and Alexander appeared to be plotting someone’s downfall before coffee.
“Ah, the wayward souls have risen.” Sebastian didn’t even look up, flipping lazily through his tablet while nursing a cup of coffee that smelled like it could resurrect the dead. “How does it feel to have barely escaped ruin?”
Alexander narrowed his eyes. “That depends. What exactly do people think happened last night?”
Sebastian’s lips curved into a slow, wicked grin. “Oh, nothing too scandalous—yet.”
Emilia froze mid-step. “Define ‘yet.’”
Sebastian tapped his screen, turning the tablet toward them. “See for yourself.”
A video played—a grainy but clear-enough clip from the party, showing Alexander laughing, his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, fencing like he actually enjoyed himself. The headline read: “A Duel, A Scandal, A Royal With a Sword—What Century Are We In Again?”
Emilia let out a slow breath. “That’s… not as bad as I expected.”
Sebastian leaned back in his chair. “The internet is thrilled. Most common comment is ‘who knew he had a personality?’”
Alexander sighed, rubbing his temple. “Wonderful.” His expression suggested he was mentally calculating how many royal appearances it would take to restore his dignified image.
Sebastian grinned. “Congratulations, Your Highness. You’re officially likable for once.”
Alexander’s expression darkened. “But what about—” his eyes flicked briefly to Emilia, “—other moments people might have noticed?”
Sebastian waved a dismissive hand. “Please. You know my rules. No phones at my parties—or at least no photos. The kind of people who attend value their invitations far too much to risk never receiving another one.” His smile turned sharp.
“I believe Lady Harrington’s son learned that lesson rather publicly last year. ”
Alexander’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “So the only thing that got out was—”
“The duel,” Sebastian confirmed. “Which, frankly, does you more good than harm. The papers get their harmless royal gossip without any actual scandal, and the public gets to think you’re not as stiff as your mother.” He shrugged. “A controlled leak is always better than wild speculation.”
Before Alexander could respond, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
They all turned, Emilia’s shoulders tensing again.
Then—without waiting for an invitation—Harper strode in like a furious valkyrie, blonde hair whipping behind her and blue eyes flashing.
She radiated the kind of energy that suggested she was here to make someone’s life difficult.
“Well, at least you don’t look like you’ve been trafficked.”
Emilia choked on her coffee. “Wait, was that actually on the table?”
“With these two?” Harper gestured at Alexander and Sebastian with her phone. “Always a possibility.”
Alexander, glancing up from his coffee, scowled. “Excuse me?”
Harper held up a hand. “Fine. Sebastian is always a possibility.”
Sebastian glared at her in mock outrage. “Wow. Where’s the trust? I literally texted you her location—with a pin drop and everything.”
“I knew she’d worry when you didn’t come home,” he added, glancing at Emilia. “It seemed like the responsible thing to do.”
Harper froze in shock for a second. “God help me, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… you’re right.”
Sebastian brightened. “Can you say that again?”
Harper tilted her head. “Don’t push it.”
Sebastian grinned. “Pushing boundaries is literally my brand.”
Harper turned to Emilia. “Ready to bounce, or do you need more time to process your life choices?”
Emilia winced, massaging her temples. “Let me finish this coffee and pretend I have any dignity left.”
Harper snorted, then pivoted to Sebastian with a sharp glare. “What exactly have you been telling people? Because I swear to God—”
Sebastian placed a hand over his chest. “Harper, I am deeply hurt by your lack of faith in me.”
Harper folded her arms, unimpressed. “Right. Because you have such a stellar track record of not stirring up chaos.”
Sebastian set down his cup with theatricality. “Relax. No rumors, no embellishments, no anonymous tips to the tabloids. You know my house operates on Las Vegas rules—what happens at Sebastian’s stays at Sebastian’s.”
“Thank God for that,” Harper muttered. “Considering half the scandals I’ve covered probably actually started at one of your parties.”
“Believe it or not, I do actually know when to keep my mouth shut. Especially when it involves friends.” Sebastian countered.
Harper arched a brow. “You expect me to believe there won’t be any gossip from the party?”
Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “I never said that. Everyone expects a story and the duel fits that requirement perfectly. Nothing happened other than some friendly sparring, fueled by excessive amounts of whiskey and deeply repressed aristocratic trauma.”
Harper eyed him suspiciously. “And that’s what the press is running with?”
Sebastian took a leisurely sip. “Apparently. Read the headlines yourself. People love a good brooding prince and his charmingly unhinged best friend narrative.”