The morning light flooded the royal jet as it flew over the Baltic Sea, returning from Stockholm to London.

The unexpected dive the night before had resulted in a slight cold for both Oliver and Ian. However, Ian seemed to cope better with the symptoms, his voice only slightly hoarse and his eyes only a little puffy, while Oliver felt his nose tingling and a persistent headache.

Still, Ian maintained his natural charm, his long dark lashes framing almond-brown eyes with an almost hypnotic elegance. His voice, even with the slight roughness, echoed through the cabin with an engaging cadence as he discussed various topics, from insightful observations on international politics to jokes and quips that brought smiles to Oliver's face.

Oliver found himself lost in observing every nuance of Ian's expressions — the way his lips curved into mischievous smiles or tightened in thoughtful frowns. There was something captivating about his energy, even when slightly unwell, that drew Oliver like a moth to a flame.

Ian's left hand rested on Oliver's, their long, elegant fingers intertwined, sending waves of warmth through Oliver's body. That simple touch filled him with a sense of contentment and peace, as if nothing else mattered but Ian's close presence.

Eventually, exhaustion seemed to overtake Ian, his eyes closing slowly until his breathing became slow and steady, indicating he had finally succumbed to sleep once more. Oliver nestled a little closer, inhaling the light scent of Ian's skin, and allowed his own fatigue to envelop him, falling asleep by his side, lulled by the safety of the moment.

When they arrived at Buckingham Palace, the Queen received them in her private office, beaming with happiness.

"Oh, Oliver, I am so delighted that you and Princess Sofia have finally met and understood each other," she celebrated, hugging Oliver warmly. He caught a whiff of her floral perfume, which she had worn for decades, clinging to his red coat. "I feared this day would never come."

Oliver forced a smile, stifled in the Queen's embrace.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Grandma. After all, I just met her."

"That's precisely why I want to invite her to a dinner here at the Palace," she released him abruptly.

Oliver glanced at Ian, who was always stationed by the door, observing the scene with keen eyes. He saw a flicker of surprise and deep displeasure in them.

"A dinner?" Oliver looked back at her, his mind racing to find a way to dissuade her, to no avail. "But, Grandma, we dined together just yesterday."

"From what I heard, she was only present for dessert," she said, touching the tip of Oliver's nose with her ruby-ringed finger. "I really want to get to know her better, my grandson. I'm sure she'll love to meet you again in a more intimate setting."

Oliver felt the pressure in his chest increase, aware that there was no escaping this invitation. He took a deep breath and forced a smile before asking to be excused and leaving, with Ian discreetly following. Oliver knew that the Queen was determined to strengthen the bonds between them, and he had no choice but to accept her invitation, even though part of him still felt reluctant to speed things up.

"Did she consult you about this dinner?" Oliver asked Ian as they walked to the dining room. Since they had arrived after lunch, it awaited him at the table, while Ian opted to eat in the kitchen. Oliver decided to join him.

"She's the Queen, Oliver," Ian replied as if it were obvious even to a child. "She doesn't consult me about these things. In fact, she doesn't consult me about anything. I'm just here to assist you, not to make decisions."

"I don't believe that," Oliver muttered. "Did you at least know about this beforehand?"

"Well, it was to be expected, wasn't it?" Ian retorted. He quickened his pace as they approached the kitchen door, opening it naturally. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted into Oliver's nostrils.

"Hello, boys," greeted Laura with her ever-gentle smile.

Ian responded with a loud kiss on her cheek before sitting at the wooden table, where Oliver presumed he usually sat for his meals.

"Oliver has a date," Ian said casually. Oliver shot him a venomous look, to which Ian gazed back, impassive.

"A date?" Laura asked, her large brown eyes identical to her brother's sparkling with surprise. "What do you mean?"

"It's not a date," Oliver immediately retorted. "Far from it."

"Then what is it?" Laura asked, but Ian took the lead again in responding to her.

"Well, he has a dinner with a beautiful princess, who defies royal standards, just like him," Ian said with mock enthusiasm. "Oliver is smitten with her. And apparently, the feeling is mutual, since the lovely princess is totally on board with the idea of marrying him," he continued, his forced smile widening.

"Ian!" Oliver reprimanded him, feeling his face heat under Laura's scrutinizing gaze. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, Your Royal Highness," he replied, laden with sarcasm. It almost justified his childish behavior. "I'm just telling your friend about the success of our dinner. You've found a bride, the Queen is happy, I'm probably getting a raise... it's a sequence of wins."

Oliver sighed, exhausted by Ian's provocative attitude.

"Ian, please, don't be an idiot."

"Sorry," Ian whispered, his lips curving into an ironic smile as he rose from the wooden chair before the first course was even served. "It must be in my blood, right?"

With that, Ian turned and left the kitchen, his footsteps echoing with an almost musical determination on the wooden floor. Oliver sighed, holding back the frustration that threatened to escape. Ian's overreaction left him confused and hurt, but Oliver knew there was more behind his behavior.

"What happened in Stockholm?" Laura interrogated, fixing her hazel eyes on Oliver with inquisitive intensity.

Oliver looked away, unable to maintain eye contact. His stomach churned and he felt a chill run down his spine. He swallowed hard before responding evasively:

"I just met another princess, Laura. And..." He hesitated, unsure of how to express the complexity of the situation.

"Not the rehearsed line, Oliver," Laura interrupted, her voice firm and direct, her hazel eyes piercing Oliver's with inquisitive intensity. "What happened between you and Ian?"

The imperative tone of her question caught Oliver completely off guard, causing him to stammer a hesitant response.

"Nothing... nothing happened," his voice sounding weak and unconvincing even to his own ears.

Laura tilted her head slightly, her long dark hair slipping softly over her shoulders as she narrowed her eyes at Oliver. "Do you really think you can lie to me?" She asked, her expression a mixture of frustration and concern. "I've known you both for years. Him, specifically, since before he was born."

Feeling increasingly cornered, Oliver watched as Laura rose from her chair and walked around the table, stopping right in front of him. She lifted Oliver's chin with a delicate finger, forcing him to look directly at her. Oliver continued to desperately try to come up with a lie that could save him from the embarrassment, but Laura surprised him by saying:

"Let me spare you the near-heart attack, okay?" She raised a hand in a calming gesture, her voice taking on a tone of understanding that contrasted with her earlier firmness. "Ian and I have no secrets. So, I know everything about you two," she made a distasteful face, eliciting a breathless laugh from him. "Minus the details, obviously."

"Everything?" Oliver asked, feeling the blush spread across his cheeks as he tried to absorb the revelation.

"Everything," Laura confirmed, a corner of her mouth curling into a smile. Her honey-colored eyes sparkled mischievously, fixed on Oliver's face. "Not that your feelings for Ian were exactly a secret to me."

"Well," Oliver dismissed the comment, his heart pounding in his chest as he admitted, "I think Ian sort of admitted to liking me too."

Laura rolled her eyes, her long lashes brushing softly against her tanned skin. An ironic smile danced on her lips as she murmured, "And only now you realize, Oliver? Honestly!" Her expression was a delicate balance between amusement and exasperation.

"Ian isn't the type to express his feelings easily," Oliver pondered, though he couldn't deny Laura's argument. "Most of the time, he's a closed book. I have no idea what he means."

"Of course he likes you, you fool," she said in her usual direct tone, as if explaining the obvious to a stubborn child. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You're all he talks about. All the time."

"What?" Oliver asked, astonished, feeling his heart race at this unexpected revelation.

"See what he just did here?" She pointed in the direction Ian had stormed off, her expression turning into one of understanding. "That's pure and simple jealousy."

Oliver frowned, trying to understand that twisted logic. His stomach knotted with nerves seemed to confirm Laura's words, while his mind worked to process it all.

"You mean... being rude like that is his way of expressing his feelings?" Oliver tried to interpret, genuinely perplexed by the idea that Ian's rude attitude could be a manifestation of his feelings for him.

Laura's laughter echoed through the room, her eyes sparkling with amusement. A few rebellious strands escaped her casual bun, framing her delicate-featured face.

"Basically, yes," she confirmed with her typical playful smile. "That's how that stubborn head works."

"That's just..." Oliver searched for the right word, but Laura was quicker:

"Childish. Contradictory. Emotionally unstable," she listed, raising her slender fingers in the air. "Feel free to choose all the options, because that's exactly what it is."

Oliver bit his lip, pondering. All of this seemed much more complicated and deep, far beyond Laura's succinct words. There were nuances and layers that needed to be explored.

"Well, I would say..." Oliver ventured a fourth option, which probably encompassed the previous ones, but made the most sense to him, "desperate."

Laura's playful smile faded, her expression turning sorrowful. She covered Oliver's trembling hand with hers—soft, warm, comforting. Her honey-colored eyes looked at Oliver with empathy, understanding the emotional complexity he was facing.

"Ian is an adult, Oliver," said Laura, gently squeezing Oliver's trembling fingers. Her gaze was kind yet laden with concern. "He knows what he's gotten into. He just doesn't know how to deal with the possibility of losing you. Or rather, he doesn't want to deal with you marrying someone else and him eventually having to leave."

"Leave? Where to?" Oliver asked, feeling a chill run down his spine at this frightening prospect. His heart pounded in his chest, as if sensing what was to come.

Laura bit her lower lip, her deep, dark eyes fixed on Oliver's with piercing intensity. She seemed to carefully ponder her next words, as if fearing the impact they would have on Oliver.

"Oliver, Ian was hired only to assist in the transition of the reign," she explained, her voice soft and compassionate. "Once you get married and the succession process is complete, he won't have a role here anymore."

Laura's words echoed in Oliver's mind like thunder, making his stomach churn in anguish. How could he have been so blind? His fate was already sealed—a lonely and claustrophobic path from which he could not escape. And in the process, he would end up driving away and losing the one person who truly mattered.

Oliver swallowed hard, his throat tight, feeling a mix of shock, pain, and despair take hold of him. His gaze met Laura's, and then, everything made sense. The pieces of the puzzle came together, revealing an image as frightening as it was inevitable.

"I need to go," Oliver declared, feeling a sudden urgency, a cold pit in his stomach. He pulled his hands from Laura's warm and comforting grasp. "Now."

Laura nodded silently, a sad and understanding smile forming on her full lips. She knew what Oliver needed to do and encouraged him with that gentle look.

Oliver hurried through the palace corridors, his steps slipping on the polished wooden floor. He crossed the gallery of former kings and queens, their painted gazes seeming to follow, to judge him. His heart pounded erratically against his ribs, while his mind raced, trying to assimilate everything Laura had said.

Ian would leave. As soon as Oliver ascended the throne, he would simply disappear from his life. The idea was intolerable, making his stomach churn and his hands sweat. He couldn't let him go without first clarifying once and for all what was between them.

Oliver arrived, panting, at the corridor of the north wing, where the palace staff's quarters were located. The setting sun cast angled light through the arched window, projecting geometric and golden shadows on the Persian rug covering the oak floor. He walked quickly and decisively to Ian's room door, feeling his heart hammer in his chest with anticipation and nervousness. He knocked on the dark wood urgently, trying to catch his breath.

He heard muffled footsteps on the other side before the door opened. Ian appeared, his brow furrowed, still clearly upset about something. His deep brown eyes, so captivating, sparkled with surprise upon seeing Oliver standing there, breathless and determined.

Without hesitation, Oliver pushed the door open, entering the room without waiting for an invitation.

He heard Ian grumble behind him as he closed the door, locking them in that intimate space. Ian's room had a large canopy bed, covered with a quilt embroidered with delicate floral motifs. A large window bathed the room in the soft, golden light of the sunset, casting dancing shadows on the walls paneled with dark carved wood.

As he walked through the room, Oliver rummaged through his pockets hurriedly until he found his phone. With trembling fingers, he opened the notes app and tapped on the last saved file, his heart racing in anticipation.

"What are you doing?" Ian asked, his voice hoarse and full of confusion, but Oliver ignored him. He needed to show him what was there, needed to expose his feelings before it was too late.

Oliver cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. Then, he began to read solemnly and passionately the lines he had written, a belated response to Ian's question from the previous night.

"Your eyes haunt my fantasies — twin galaxies in which I get lost, bathed in candlelight. I know every nuance of your nocturnal gaze; every blink is a starburst."

His voice faltered when he met Ian's gaze, his lips parted in an expression of surprise and fascination. Oliver took a breath and continued, feeling his heart pulse with each word:

"I've studied how your eyelashes flutter when you smile, that charming mouth curving, radiant with innocent mischief. I confess to stealing moments, timing your sighs, breathless at the sound of your husky laughter," Oliver glanced up from the screen once more, seeing that Ian's shoulders had relaxed considerably, though he still stood motionless in the center of the room, absorbing every word Oliver said.

Ian crossed his arms, an almost wondrous expression threatening to take over his face.

"Those faint freckles — constellations on your skin — are my atlas, my guide through every curve and every shadow. Not even you know the power you wield to enchant the most perceptive observer," Oliver continued reading the lines that blurred before his eyes, their breaths suspended as he risked taking a few steps toward Ian.

Oliver saw Ian swallow hard, blinking several times as he kept his eyes fixed on him.

After a brief pause, reflecting on whether he should verbalize the last stanza, Oliver finally took the risk:

"And I — long enthralled — can only surrender to every piece of you, transported in particles of light. My universe begins and ends in your eyes."

When he finished, silence fell.

Their gazes met — both terrified, though for different reasons. Ian took a step forward, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Oliver..." Ian's voice wavered, his eyes blinking, dazed. Oliver waited anxiously as he seemed to struggle internally to find the right words. His gaze was intense but distant, as if his mind was miles away, absorbed in turbulent thoughts.

"You asked if I had ever written about you," Oliver began, his voice betraying him with raw timidity, but he kept his eyes firmly on Ian's. Ian's silence was an oppressive void, and, faltering, Oliver whispered: "Ian?"

Ian started, as if emerging from a deep reverie.

"Sorry, I... this is..." His fingers drummed restlessly on his arm, and he ran a hand through his black hair in a nervous gesture. "I have this very important meeting with the Queen and..."

"Now?" Oliver blurted, incredulity clouding his voice.

His heart sank at the realization that Ian had to leave at that moment, interrupting whatever he had been hoping for from that moment.

"Yes. Yes, now," Ian confirmed, casting an involuntary glance at the watch on his wrist. "I'm sorry. It's a crucial negotiation, the future of peace between our lands, I've already informed her about—"

His voice trailed off, and a wave of understanding hit Oliver with the force of a storm. Ian had to go. Urgently. Before even giving Oliver an answer, before Oliver knew if his feelings were reciprocated.

Oliver cleared his throat, struggling internally to maintain composure, not to let on how much he had exposed himself and how much Ian's abrupt departure hurt him. Ian was still there, petrified, torn between the impulse to face Oliver and the duty calling him.

"Alright," Oliver managed to simulate a conciliatory tone, though his heart was in shreds. "Go to your meeting. We'll talk later."

Ian nodded slightly, his agreement as fragile as the delicate situation. In a silent motion, Ian disentangled himself and left, leaving a painful void in his place.

The door closed behind Ian with a dull thud that echoed throughout the room. Oliver remained there, frozen, staring at the empty space Ian had occupied seconds before.

Oliver ran a trembling hand over his face, feeling like the fool of fools.

It wasn't the first time he had opened up to Ian, had exposed his heart so honestly, only to see him flee.

Of all the scenarios Oliver had envisioned for that moment, this one he had never predicted. His expectations seemed to wither, lyricism cast to ashes. The agony of rejection consumed him, a choking knot in his throat.

Lost in bitter thoughts, Oliver only realized the door was being reopened when Ian burst back into his peripheral vision.

Ian's breathing was ragged, his suit rumpled, as if he had run there. Oliver couldn't contain the impulse to turn, facing him with a mixture of hope and despair.

Without a word, Ian crossed the room in three long strides and cupped Oliver's face in his warm hands, his golden eyes shining with devastating intensity.

Before Oliver could react, Ian pulled him into a kiss — intense and urgent, as if his life depended on it.

Surprised, Oliver took only a second to reciprocate, his hands gripping Ian's shoulders. Their lips met in a feverish dance, all the pent-up electricity between them finally finding an outlet. Oliver's fingers tangled in the soft hair at Ian's nape, pulling him closer as they kissed like it was the first time.

When they pulled apart, breathless, Ian's eyes expressed relief, surrender, and a touching vulnerability.

His thumb caressed Oliver's cheek with reverent delicacy as he studied him, memorizing every detail.

"I love you too," Ian whispered, his warm breath tickling Oliver's face. "So damn much," he added, with almost exasperated emphasis. "Like I've never loved anyone in my life."