A prince in hiding, fleeing the fallout of a scandal. A college jock trapped by everyone else’s expectations. A secret love that could cost them everything.
After a controversial public clash with his father, the king, Prince Stephen of Sirdinia is sent to Brokefield College in the United States to complete his senior year under an assumed identity, Stephen Smith. His mission is simple—keep his head down, focus on his studies, and let the scandal fade before returning home to assume the throne.
Asher Barlow, Brokefield’s charismatic, all-American basketball star, seems to have everything anyone could want. But living up to the expectations of his family and friends has come at a personal cost.
When Stephen and Asher’s friendship blossoms into something more, they must choose between the futures others have planned for them and the love neither of them expected. Their relationship threatens not only their dreams, but also the bonds they share with the people they hold most dear.
Reader advisory: This book contains a brief scene of sexual assault.
General Release Date: 17th November 2026
That’s it, my life is over.
A demand to meet with an irate king never ends well.
“His Majesty will see you now, Your Highness,” Darius, my family’s head of security since I was born, informed me from my chamber’s doorway. Although Darius was always kind to me, affectionate even, his primary allegiance was to my father, the King of Sirdinia. It was as it should be. Darius wasn’t likely to betray what my father had communicated to him about the meeting’s purpose, or why he was in a mood. I attempted to pry the information from him anyway.
“How much trouble am I in?” I asked, endeavoring to appear nonchalant and hopeful his demeanor would be as well.
“It’s not for me to say,” Darius replied in a tone that answered my question. I was in a gallows kind of trouble.
I followed Darius’ colossal figure down the corridor to my parents’ suite. I was fortunate that my mother and father chose to speak with me in their living quarters as opposed to summoning me to their thrones where we’d be observed by palace staff. They had done that once when I was barely more than a toddler, after I had been caught snitching sweets from the kitchen pantry. Their lecture had been followed by one of the guards administering a few firm slaps to my derrière. Nobody had been permitted to leave during the punishment. I had been an unwilling actor forced to partake in a most unpleasant play. The intimidation and humiliation had stayed with me—a warning that there were painful consequences for disobedience.
Upon reaching our destination, Darius knocked on the massive, aged mahogany arched double doors, then turned to shoot me his first look of empathy. One of Darius’ younger guards let us in, nodding to me and greeting me by my title. My father, King Philip, and my mother, Queen Sophie, sat on opposite sofas reading the day’s newspapers. They glanced my way, both stoic, but their creased brows signaled a reckoning was forthcoming.
Darius and I bowed before them. It was a custom that seemed outdated, unnecessary and narcissistic—especially when expected of loved ones in private. I vowed that if I lived long enough to become king, I would abolish the practice—except when in public settings, where tradition would likely prevent me from doing so.
“That will be all,” my father said, sending Darius and his junior guard on their way. Once they shut the door behind them, I gulped louder than I wished. It wasn’t that I feared my parents shouting at me. They never had. That would be unseemly…as would showing excessive emotion of any sort. Although they would remain steely calm, I was certain a severe punishment would be leveled upon me for whatever I’d done.
Growing up, time spent with Mother and Father had been instructional, with occasional compliments and restrained affection outweighed by communications regarding expectations and disappointment when I had failed to meet them. I might have matured to a similar disposition as that of my parents were it not for my beloved childhood nanny, Therese, and the ongoing presence of Darius. Both had been supportive, positive and caring, even if compelled to use a firm hand on rare occasions. After distressing encounters with my parents, they typically comforted me. I hoped Darius would again, once I returned to my quarters.
My father clasped his hands over his lap, not inviting me to sit. Although he attempted to appear composed, his jaw was clenched and his fingertips reddened from how tightly each hand gripped the other.
“Congratulations, Stephen. You’ve made the front page of the papers,” he announced. His sarcasm would have been nearly imperceptible to someone unfamiliar.
I bit my lip. I concluded that my comments to a reporter at my university the previous day had made the news. Now I understood my transgression.
“I was caught by surprise and ill-prepared, Father. I hadn’t meant to embarrass you.”
“This wasn’t the first public utterance of yours to do so,” he responded. “You claim humiliation is not your objective, but repeatedly bring it to our doorstep. I shudder to envision what will happen should it become your intention.”
“Stephen, we’ve warned you not to speak to the press,” my mother added in a clipped tone. “They’re vultures who make their earnings by peddling rage-bait, gossip, and conflict—and there’s a bonus for them if it involves the royal family.”
My father shook his head. “Sophie, the media can only do so when given ammunition. The blame rests solely on our son. Stephen willingly made a statement that contradicted my own, thus creating controversy.” He glanced back at me. “Yet you allege you didn’t wish to dishonor me?”
I shifted from foot to foot, then willed myself to stop. If my father noticed discomfort, he would criticize me for that, too. It wasn’t dignified to show vulnerability or stress under pressure.
“The security guard assigned to me should have been present to shield me from the journalists,” I protested. “I needed to walk to another building for my next class, and he was nowhere to be found. The press was on me as soon as I entered the courtyard, barraging me with inquiries before I could gather my thoughts.”
My father frowned. “Darius already dismissed the gentleman from our employ for dereliction of duty. That was the outcome of his actions. We brought you here to discuss yours.”
“Father, I know my criticism of Prime Minister Thiel was at odds with your show of unity with him. But why must I follow suit? I am unimportant. I am not the king. Should anyone care if my opinion differs from the prime minister’s?”
“People care that it contradicts mine,” my father replied. “I’ve publicly supported Thiel’s position to withhold military aid to Dubravia. The headlines read that the crown prince is critical of Thiel and the king.”
I scrunched my face before regaining my composure. “As I said, I hadn’t had time to think it through. I knew that privately, you disagree with the prime minister, as well. In the moment the question was posed to me, I thought my differing view on the matter could convey what you really wished for people to hear, and it would be without political risk to you.”
“Everything you say has potential risk for me, Stephen. You are no longer a child. You are the next king of Sirdinia, God willing. Surely, you understand that if reporters are clamoring for your views, your voice is important. And once Thiel read your comments, he reamed me throughout an insufferable phone exchange. He threatened the very existence of the royal family.”
Deep down, I hadn’t believed my father would be pleased that I’d voiced his actual opinion with the people. My real motivation had been to share my pent-up feelings on the matter. I had trouble supporting our country’s official position. Nevertheless, I should have considered how it could reflect on the king.
“I was wrong, Father. I sincerely apologize. I fear my sentiments on the subject overwhelmed my common sense. I’ve been frustrated to read of the military assaults on the Dubravian people from a ruthless, neighboring authoritarian superpower. It was as you’ve said to me, Thiel and Parliament are watching the Dubravian democracy fall, which ultimately endangers the rest of us who hold freedom and human rights dear.”
My father pursed his lips. “And I also told you that there are times that I must capitulate when my opinion isn’t shared by others in power. Exposing a rift between the country’s leaders only makes our subjects question whether we know what we’re doing, and it provides an opportunity for our enemies to capitalize on the fracture. The time for debate is before an official policy is communicated, and the place is behind closed doors. Once Parliament reaches a decision, we must coalesce. Stephen, we are the weakest of the leadership when it comes to Sirdinia’s power structure. I’ve explained this to you many times. I have limited authority. We can influence but not overrule. We exist for moral guidance, diplomacy on the world stage, good will and…tourism. You should have abstained from comment or replied you are solely focused on your studies.”
Every Sirdinian civilian had an opinion on aid to Dubravia. If I had done as my father suggested, it would have left me open to criticism that I was too self-absorbed to care about what was happening around me. However, considering the circumstances, it was not the time to debate it.
“You are right. I should have made an excuse to hurry on my way without engaging. Once again, I offer my deepest apologies. I must learn to navigate sensitive topics better.”
My father’s expression softened, now that I’d accepted responsibility. “Stephen, you’ve always been vicarious where others are concerned. Know that your mother and I cherish that about you. Unfortunately, it will be a weakness if it interferes with your ability to lead. Your feelings on a matter are but one factor when evaluating a situation. Sometimes, achieving what you think is best can result in a greater negative outcome, such as weakening our peoples’ faith that their government is unified and well-functioning. And if you attempt to win citizens to your side at the expense of leadership consensus, you risk disarray, our own future leverage, and possible inaction altogether. That benefits nobody.”
I nodded dutifully. “I will do better next time, Father.”
My mother still appeared troubled. I imagined she was waiting for my father to bring the conversation back to the consequences of my actions. An apology on my part was rarely sufficient.
My father cleared his throat. “There won’t be a next time, Stephen. Not at your current university, anyway.”
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