Johan’s breath went shallow for a moment but he didn’t panic.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for his lack of response. Maybe Lukas had noticed he had a message, half-awake, then fallen back to sleep. Or hadn’t actually read Johan’s message, and would respond in the morning. It wasn’t as if his brother, the person he cared about most in the world, would purposely avoid him.

He switched to his secret social media handle to check the relentlessly nosy royal watcher accounts that had begun to track Lukas despite Johan’s distracting antics.

The first thing to pop up in his feed was a photo of his brother, looking sad and pale as he stood in front of the memorial to their mother, holding a wreath. His mouth was a grim line, but his posture was straight and his expression steely. He looked every inch the image of a handsome, dutiful future king, surrounded by strangers in dark suits, and it made Johan’s stomach turn. He’d tried so hard to keep Lukas out of the spotlight, but the comments below the image showed his control over that was slipping as well.

@BougieBourger I never noticed but he’s SO HOT. I hope everyone votes YES in the upcoming referendum, but if the NO vote wins and the monarchy is abolished, he can come bunk with me.

@GimmeDatBraustein Oh, the poor leibling. Some woman is going to be a very happy future queen, though, if they make it through. Is it true he’s seeing Princess Sadie?

Johan frowned. Of course people thought that a picture of a motherless boy in mourning was a great time to conjecture on his dating life. They’d done it to him at the actual bloody funeral.

@crispincakes Jo-Jo didn’t show up! But didn’t he freak out at his mother’s funeral? It’s no wonder—

Super.

Johan stopped reading and put his phone away. He hadn’t had to suffer the full indignity of social media dissection when his mother had died, and some newspapers had been respectful enough not to publish the photos of his breakdown. He wasn’t going to keep reading to see what people trying to revive his trauma would say about it.

He reached through the starched collar of his shirt for the thin, ornate ring on a chain around his neck and took a deep breath. He reminded himself that feelings were useless, unless they belonged to other people and could be protected or used to his benefit—never both.

Maybe Lukas had learned from him, a bit too well. Johan hadn’t done much regarding the upcoming referendum because there was influencing as distraction and influencing as politics, and the latter was not his domain. But the always scheming little voice in the back of his mind felt a bit of pride if his brother had known that his appearance would sway people to a yes vote. The voice of his heart, which reasoned that Johan schemed so Lukas wouldn’t have to, wasn’t quite as amused.

Nya shuffled down the aisle as he was finishing his smoothie and took her seat across from him. She kept her gaze straight ahead, sphinxlike, and the sun streaming in through the window outlined her profile and her crown of braids in gold. Her burnished silhouette was lovely, and Johan imagined capturing it on a cameo, like the old Liechtienbourger love charms—except he would never have the right to own such an object.

“Hello again, Naya,” he said, with a deferential tilt of his head. The plan was to walk the tightrope of annoying her—within reason—so that she would avoid him over the next few days, but not so much that she really hated him.

She turned her head slowly, regally.

“Yes, Jo-Jo?” There was the slightest hint of unruffled derision in her tone as she used the tabloid nickname for him.

He was both affronted and delighted.

Could she possibly understand how much he hated that name? No, but she’d assumed that he wouldn’t be pleased by it. She was soft and gentle, but not all the time, he was learning.

He fought off a smile, and cleared his throat.

“I’m going to apologize again,” he said. “There is nothing humorous about a strange man propositioning a woman trapped on a plane with him, and it’s not my style.”

He looked up at her through his lashes and grinned, a one-two combo he thought would work best on a generally reserved woman like Nya who wasn’t used to being the center of attention. Now she would blush, and stammer, and accept his apology not out of reflex but because he’d charmed her. Then he could go back to ignoring her for both of their own good.

She gazed at him steadily, but didn’t say anything for a long while. Johan’s jaw began to ache from holding his patented smile in place—it usually worked much more quickly than this.

He was off his game, indeed.

Just when the awkwardness was becoming almost intolerable, she tilted her head back and looked down her nose at him.

“Do you mean it? Or are you just trying to make yourself feel better?” Her voice was firm, with no hint of his charm having worked on her.

“Yes. I mean, no. I’m apologizing because I shouldn’t have behaved that way,” he responded, surprised to find himself flustered.

“If you take a moment to think before saying offensive things to a woman, and then don’t say them, you’ll have nothing to apologize for and she won’t have to make you feel better about it.” She tapped her index finger thoughtfully against her temple as she looked at him, then reached for a magazine on her tray table and pulled it into her lap, ignoring him.

“What?”

“Keep your apology.” She flipped the magazine open.