My Enemy, My Love

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔒𝔫𝔢

Prince Luka [Jimmy]

I tried not to dwell on it. Royal duty, tradition, those insufferable treaties that seemed to appear whenever it was most inconvenient -- all of it frustrated me to no end. I wasn't remotely interested in letting such predicaments occupy my mind. But this was my reality now. A decree issued, an old promise dug out from the annals of history and thrown back into the present, leaving everyone involved scrambling. No way out, no path to refuse. Some centuries-old folly, written on a crumpled sheet of paper, had sealed my fate. Now I was bound to the one man I despised more than anything in this world -- and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.

What was the point of tradition, anyway? Why did royal life have to be so unfair, so unpredictable, so full of disappointments? Why must we marry at all? Life would be far more enjoyable lived in solitude, with the freedom to love -- or lust after -- whoever we desired. And this so-called union? It was just the beginning of a long, exhausting, and likely volatile journey, one that would probably end in us strangling each other. Was I angry? Absolutely. But I had a knack for hiding it. Bite my tongue, suck in my cheeks, and smile politely whenever someone mentioned it.

Unlike Thyme, I knew how to mask my disgust at the whole affair. We had seen too much and too little of each other these past few weeks. His marriage to Princess Chariya? Cancelled. Replaced instantly by our own engagement. The flood of letters from across the kingdom -- well-wishes, congratulations, complaints -- poured into the palace from family, friends, and representatives of other kingdoms. The public wasted no time spreading the news, and now everyone knew of my union with the Kingdom of Bangkok.

In three weeks and five days, we were due to be married. I had vowed to do anything—anything—to stop it. Cancel, postpone, break it off. But I didn't even try. Making a fuss wasn't my style, and causing an uproar over something this ridiculous wasn't worth the energy. There was no battle to be won. The victors had already been decided, long before either of us had any say. The treaty, the tradition -- it was all set in stone. 

I hadn't seen him in a week. After the change of plans, the disgraced Princess and her heartbroken family retreated to Chiang Mai under a cloud of scandal. Rumors swirled, of course. Some said there had been an incident between Thyme and the Princess before the wedding. A baby out of wedlock -- touché, Thyme. Others claimed it was over a dispute about the dowry, that Bangkok couldn't meet Chiang Mai's financial demands. But the truth eventually surfaced, and the rumors faded. Now, the entire nation focused on us -- Thyme and me.

And it was aggravating. 

I felt bad for the Princess. She was a beauty. And yet, instead of drowning in my own misery, I couldn't help but think about how he felt. Thyme was the one marrying me, not the other way around. Selfish, perhaps, but it was the only perspective that made sense. He would suffer. Not me. Except... deep down, I knew it wasn't that simple. He knew how much this bothered me, too. 

That it bothered me more for unexplainable reasons. 

Still, we hadn't spoken about it. What was there to say? Nothing to laugh about, nothing to discuss. We were both equally fucked over by the forces that had decided to ruin our lives. I had spent the last few weeks hiding in my chambers, avoiding everyone. I'd only ventured out to the gardens a few times to smoke, to breathe in the fresh air when my room felt too suffocating. But that was it.

Above all, I was avoiding Thyme. I had no desire to argue.

That night, I slipped out around one in the morning, after hours of sleeplessness, my mind spinning with angry thoughts. The palace was quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavy. As I padded through the corridors in my nightgown and bathrobe, the portraits lining the walls seemed to follow me with cold, judgmental stares. I loathed this place, but not as much as I loathed my situation. Turning the corner, I headed for the drawing room, where the doors to the garden porch were.

Pushing the door open quietly, I stepped outside. A warm breeze hit me as I lit my cigar and inhaled deeply, savouring the smoke. Bliss. It was too warm, though, so I wandered toward the pool, hidden behind the rose garden and framed by trees. A quiet, secluded spot.

I kicked off my slippers, stepping into the cool water at the shallow end of the pool. But then --movement. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure shift in the shadows of the trees. My heart pounded as I turned, and there he was.

Thyme. Standing there, staring at me with that familiar, bitter expression.

Fuck

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