Unchosen Crown

ALWAYS ALMOST

Oliver watched Sofia glide silently around his room, her eyes analyzing every detail with evident curiosity. She skimmed the shelves lined with books as if she could extract more about him through the titles. Her presence there was laden with tension — he knew she wasn't just admiring his literary collection.

Oliver's heart raced frenetically, both anxious and terrified, in response to Sofia's rather dramatic announcement. With a formal goodbye, Ian had reluctantly disappeared down the long corridor, and now Sofia was in his room for a private conversation.

Oliver remained motionless, his fingers intertwined nervously.

"Sofia?" His words trembled more than the legs of a novice on skates.

She turned to him, and there was a storm brewing in those blue eyes, a tempest that threatened to engulf him at any moment. She stepped back, stopping just a breath away from him. She sighed deeply, once, twice, three times, opening her mouth to speak but changing her mind. Oliver's impatience boiled inside his chest.

"Well, Oliver," Sofia began, and he was about to shake her back to reason when she finally seemed to carefully choose her words, preparing to drop the bomb:

"This morning, I was presented with a video that left me quite confused until I realized it had been recorded on the security cameras of the terrace at the Grand Hotel Stockholm."

She extended her arm, handing Oliver a smartphone with the screen illuminated. His heart sank upon seeing the images of that encounter on the hotel terrace. His face in ecstasy, as he surrendered to the arms of a man in a black overcoat — their bodies intertwining intimately in the pool — left little to the imagination.

There was no denying what was there, captured in pixels.

For a moment, the world around Oliver seemed to collapse. That video was irrefutable proof of his secret, a window into the true nature of Oliver Montague Fitzwilliam-Somerset. And now, Sofia held in her hands the power to destroy in seconds an image of decorum and nobility he had upheld for 26 years.

Oliver swallowed hard, preparing for the worst. But to his surprise, Sofia's voice was soft and understanding.

"I managed to persuade my father to suppress the dissemination of the video," she revealed, "and fortunately, it hasn't reached the press yet." It wasn't the most pleasant news, but it offered some relief. "I suspect that this person sent it to me expecting payment or some form of compensation," Sofia continued, "though we can't be sure how many eyes have already seen this video."

"Hum..." Oliver hesitated, handing back the device. Irritation tickled his naivety, but laughing was the only option when life slipped into the ridiculous. "I guess I wasn't very smart."

"I assume this gentleman is your Royal Advisor," she gently probed, emphasizing: "the person you were just talking to."

"Sofia," he interjected, speechless. Denying would be useless; confirming under these circumstances would be embarrassing, so Oliver remained silent, holding her piercing gaze.

"Well, it seems that Mr. Harrison-Jones remains unidentified in the video, so he probably doesn't face any risk, but Oliver," she paused dramatically, "what impact could this video have if it reached the press?"

Oliver pondered the question, and a sense of panic began to overtake him. Thinking about his relationship with Ian being revealed this way, without their control, made Oliver nauseous.

He collapsed onto the bed, his world spinning out of control, while Sofia knelt gently in front of him. He buried his face in his trembling hands, exhaling agonizingly.