Chapter 36 Alexander and His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Life
Alexander and His Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Life
Alexander lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. The ornate molding above him, carved with careful precision, blurred at the edges as his thoughts churned restlessly.
His entire life had been shaped by expectation—by duty, by restraint, by the unspoken understanding that his choices were never really his own.
He had made peace with that a long time ago, or at least, he thought he had.
But now, with the weight of everything pressing down on him, he realized that peace had never been real.
It had only been acceptance, and acceptance was not the same as contentment.
His father had been the golden king, a man of effortless warmth and unshakable charisma.
Alexander had spent his childhood looking up to him, trying to understand how he could command a room with nothing but a smile.
Yet his father had kept secrets, lived a life Alexander hadn’t even fully uncovered yet, made choices that left a trail of betrayal in their wake.
Then there was his mother, who had never wavered, never bent, never entertained the idea that his life could belong to him. She had handed him Genevieve like a polished chess piece, a move she had been orchestrating since he was a boy. A future king needed a future queen. It was as simple as that.
And Emilia—he couldn’t even let himself think about her.
Because that was the one thing he wanted, truly wanted, and it was the one thing he could never have.
His fingers clenched into the fabric of the sheets at his sides.
He had to pretend, had to put on the face they needed, had to smile for the cameras, stand beside Genevieve, and play the role that had been written for him since birth.
But something inside of him was cracking, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold it together.
He closed his eyes. He had never felt this hollow before.
At first, the shift was barely noticeable. A difference in his posture, a hesitation in his smile, a quiet that felt more like absence than restraint.
Alexander had never been the warmest of royals—his reputation had been built on duty, intelligence, and a carefully measured public presence. But after the duel and his more casual interviews, the public had briefly seen something different.
A prince who was sharp and witty. A man who looked alive, vibrant, magnetic. Someone who could steal the spotlight without even trying.
Now? Now he looked tired. The press noticed it first. At a charity gala, he smiled, nodded, shook hands, but the warmth never quite reached his eyes.
Then at a diplomatic reception, he delivered a speech that was eloquent, poised, but empty.
The next day at a theater premiere, he stood beside Genevieve, watching the stage but never really seeing it.
The comparison was impossible to ignore.
The man from the duel—the prince who had drawn a sword, who had grinned at his opponent, who had fought with reckless charm and confidence—was gone.
Social media buzzed with speculation:
“Alexander, blink twice if you’re being held hostage by royal protocol.”
“Bro looks like he just read the terms and conditions of his own life.”
“Did they confiscate his personality at the palace gates?”
“Genevieve is glowing. Alexander looks like a man who just realized he left the oven on at the palace.”
The headlines followed:
CAPITAL TIMES: “Prince Alexander’s Thousand-Yard Stare: Trouble in Paradise?”
DAILY POST: “‘Completely Miserable’: Royal Insiders Reveal the Truth Behind Alexander’s Strained Smiles”
THE ROYAL OBSERVER: “A Kingdom’s Future: What Prince Alexander’s Somber Demeanor Reveals About the Monarchy”
And the palace might not have noticed it yet.
But the people did.