Royal Rivalry
Prince Henry stood beside a marble fountain, dressed neatly in dark trousers and a fitted coat despite the early hour.
He looked composed like the kind of person who never truly lost balance emotionally.
Unlike Rowan.
Rowan burned first and thought later. Prince Henry thought first, second, third, and maybe never burned at all.
The maid bowed slightly before leaving. And just like that, it was just the two of us.
Henry studied me carefully and the look alone made my skin crawl.
“You’re Billy?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Highness,” I answered, lowering my gaze respectfully.
The accent came naturally. I didn't even sound french or royal. I sounded too ordinary.