A Royal Orchestra

Chapter 2

Chapter Two ; Drunk Confessions and Royal Betrayals

So, finding out your best friend is the Crown Prince of Xenovia should be the kind of news that makes you want to throw a party, right? Balloons, confetti, maybe a glass of champagne or two. But nope. Not for me. Instead of celebrating, I’m halfway across the world, hiding out in a tiny apartment that smells vaguely like burnt toast and regret.

Why? Well, it’s not just about him being the prince. It’s about what happened before I found out he was the prince.

Let me backtrack for a second.

The night before the Big Reveal—aka the day the world found out Zachary was heir to the Xenovian throne—there weren’t any big flashy signs or royal declarations. Nope, it was just me, Zack, and a bottle of wine I probably shouldn’t have opened.

To be fair, I wasn’t exactly planning on getting him drunk. I mean, okay, maybe I was trying to loosen him up a bit. He’d been acting weird for weeks, distant and distracted, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I figured a little liquid courage might get him to spill whatever was bothering him.

What I didn’t expect was for me to spill first.

One minute, we were laughing about something stupid—probably one of his ridiculous theories about black holes or time travel—and the next, I was looking at him like he was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.

And then I said it.

“I think I’m in love with you, Zack.”

There was this long, awful pause where I thought I’d just ruined everything. But then, instead of laughing it off or telling me I was crazy, he kissed me.

Correction: I kissed him. And instead of pulling away, he kissed me back.

It wasn’t like in the movies, where the music swells and everything goes blurry. It was messy and awkward and so very us. But it felt… right. For a moment, anyway.

The next day, everything went to hell.

Because that was the day I found out Zack wasn’t just Zack. He was Zachary Ignatius Oia, Crown Prince of Xenovia.

You’d think he might’ve mentioned that at some point, right? Like, “Hey, by the way, I’m the heir to the throne, no big deal.” But no. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

And that’s the part that really gets me. It’s not that he’s a prince—it’s that he didn’t tell me.

We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. We’ve talked about everything—our futures, our dreams, the stupid school projects we were going to work on together. When we were kids, we even made a whole plan: go to the same university, study different things (fashion design for me, tech for him), and then start some big creative business together.

Never once did he say, “Oh, by the way, I might have to squeeze being king into the mix.”

It’s not like we didn’t have chances to talk about it. When we were applying to universities, I remember asking him why he didn’t seem stressed about the whole process. His exact words were, “I’ve got it covered.” I figured he was just being his usual genius self, not that he already had a royal destiny waiting for him.

And now, every conversation we’ve ever had feels like a lie.

I mean, I get it, kind of. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to tell me. Maybe there were rules or protocols or some royal secret society keeping him quiet. But still, I’m his best friend. I deserved to know.

And that’s why I left.

Not because he’s a prince, but because I don’t know how to look him in the eye and pretend like everything’s fine. Because the guy I kissed last week and the guy wearing that crown aren’t the same person in my head.

And, honestly? I don’t know if they ever will be.