Unchosen Crown

ONE STEP FORWARD, TWO STEPS BACK

Oliver still hadn't grown used to the idea of being there — sitting beside Ian in the luxurious quarters of Stockholm's Royal Palace, as a personal guest of King Magnus.

Queen Charlotte, after subtle and persistent insistence, had convinced him to attend. Ian, with that determined look, was the final push. And so, they found themselves in a silent limousine, the dark glass reflecting only glimpses of the city lights, on their way to the royal estate.

As they crossed the entrance hall, they were greeted by elegantly dressed staff, each one impeccable in their attire. The light marble beneath their feet seemed to glow on its own, the walls adorned with contemporary art, carefully illuminated. There was no excess; everything was calculated to appear modern and imposing. When the dining room doors opened, Oliver needed a moment to adjust to the grandeur unfolding before him. The table was long and dazzling, covered with a golden cloth that reflected the soft glow of the chandeliers above. Wildflowers, with an almost untamed beauty, dotted the room — a subtle break from the surrounding sophistication.

Oliver could hardly focus on King Magnus's endless speech about Sweden's technological wonders; his eyes were fixed on Ian, sitting beside him. Even under the warm lights, Ian's black suit seemed to absorb the attention of the room, as if he, not the king, were the true center of that universe. His curls fell carelessly over his forehead, his sideburns framing his face in a way that was almost indecent. The short beard gave a casual air to an image that would otherwise have been oppressively perfect.

Ian leaned forward, capturing the king's attention. "Indeed, Your Majesty, Sweden's tech industry is an example to the world, but I see even greater potential in closer collaboration between our nations."

His voice, firm and controlled, filled the room, and Oliver could barely hide his fascination as Ian played the role of eloquent advocate, throwing polite but cold smiles at the king. He loved the way Ian took control of the situation, even if the subject was the last thing Oliver wanted to pay attention to.

"Beyond the economic benefits, we would have a personal bond between our leaders." Queen Ingrid joined the conversation, clearly charmed by the idea of deeper alliances. "Don't you agree, dear Oliver?" she asked, her voice melodic but tinged with expectation.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward him. Startled, Oliver straightened up, his hands carefully resting on the table.

"Ah, yes, of course... Your Majesty," he began, his tone barely hiding how distant his mind was. "Contributing to the economic and... political strengthening of our nations would be a pleasure."

The words sounded vague even to his own ears, but Ian, as always, didn't miss the chance to correct him. "What we want, actually," Ian clarified, "is to ensure this union transcends mere symbolism, creating a true alliance, sustained by mutual trust." Ian's sharp gaze pierced through, as if underlining each word with intent.

For a moment, Oliver just watched, lost in the details that made Ian the irresistible force that he was. His voice became a distant melody, almost comforting. Without thinking, Oliver's hand gently rested on Ian's thigh, as if it were a natural, unconscious movement. The reaction was immediate: Ian tensed slightly, his usual composure faltering. A teasing smile appeared on Oliver's face, a silent satisfaction from the crack he knew he'd created.

Ian shifted in his seat, adjusting himself with a subtle discomfort that only Oliver could perceive. Every calculated gesture, every well-placed word seemed less solid now, as if his senses were being overwhelmed by Oliver's unbearably close presence.

"Your Majesty," Ian said, his voice faltering just enough to betray his discomfort, "beyond political matters, it's essential to consider the personal dynamics involved. A strong alliance requires harmony not only between nations but also between individuals."