Chapter Text
The palace chandelier sparkled like a thousand tiny suns — dazzling, majestic, and utterly exhausting.
Prince Est Supha Songawarawong sank a little lower in his chair, swirling the untouched wine in his glass as a government minister at the far end of the table droned on about trade policies. He was halfway between zoning out and committing social treason by yawning when his sister nudged him under the table.
"Sit up straight," Earn whispered without moving her lips. "You look like you're plotting to overthrow the monarchy."
"I might," Est muttered, straightening his posture with exaggerated grace. "Anything to escape this banquet."
"Don't be dramatic," she said, still smiling for the crowd. "You just have to look polite for another... hour or so."
"An hour?" Est feigned horror. "Earn, people get less time in solitary confinement."
Earn stifled a laugh, covering it with her napkin. "You should be grateful, dear brother. You could've been seated next to Minister Ratanapong. He's been explaining rice tariffs for twenty minutes straight."
"Tragic," Est deadpanned. "I'd rather drown in the soup."
The orchestra played softly in the background, the hall glittering in royal golds and whites. It was the kind of evening the tabloids loved — all elegance, charm, and carefully curated perfection. Which, of course, made it insufferable for Est.
He leaned slightly toward Earn, lowering his voice. "Do you think if I faint dramatically, they'll send me home early?"
"Try it," she said sweetly. "I'll make sure the paramedics take their time."
Before Est could retort, Daou — seated two tables away — waved his phone discreetly in their direction. Punch leaned over his shoulder, clearly trying (and failing) to hide a grin.
Earn squinted. "What are they—oh no. What did he do this time?"
Est frowned. "Who?"
Daou mouthed the name exaggeratedly. William.
Est groaned. "No. Not tonight."
But of course, fate was cruel.
Because a few tables down, a large television had just been switched to the evening broadcast, the volume low but the subtitles clear enough for everyone to read.
BREAKING NEWS: PRESIDENT'S SON CAUSES SCENE AT CHARITY GALA.
Est froze.
The camera footage was unmistakable — William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong, Thailand's most beloved scandal, laughing like he owned the world while champagne spilled in the background. His tux was half undone, his grin criminally confident.
Earn raised an eyebrow. "Oh look, your favorite person."
"Don't," Est said flatly.
"Didn't you two meet at that youth summit years ago?"
Est's grip on his glass tightened. "Met? He insulted me in front of an international audience."
Earn bit back a smirk. "Ah yes. The great debate."
"Maybe Thailand doesn't need royalty to inspire it," William's voice from years ago echoed in Est's mind, smug and smooth as silk. "Maybe it just needs people brave enough to speak for themselves."
The audience had laughed. Est had smiled — the kind of smile that hid ten thousand creative ways to commit homicide.
And now, years later, William was still everywhere — in headlines, gossip columns, and unfortunately, Est's blood pressure.
"I don't understand," Est muttered. "How can someone so irresponsible be so... popular?"
Earn rested her chin on her hand, pretending to listen to the minister beside her. "Because he's charming. Reckless. And he knows it. The people love a scandal with dimples."
Est scoffed. "Dimples don't fix diplomatic relations."
"Neither does pouting, darling."
Before Est could reply, the ballroom doors opened with a soft, ceremonial creak. A palace aide entered, whispering something to the royal announcer.
The man cleared his throat and projected his voice through the hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests — representing the President of Thailand tonight, please welcome her son... Mr. William Jakrapatr Kaewpanpong."
The sound that escaped Est's throat could only be described as a royal malfunction.
Earn's smile widened, dangerous and delighted. "You've got to be kidding me."
The crowd turned. And there he was — William, in a perfectly tailored black suit, walking in with that same magnetic swagger that made every camera fall in love. His smile was easy, polite — but his eyes? They were trouble.
Est's heart did something stupid, like skip. He ignored it immediately.
William bowed gracefully to the King and Queen, greeting each official with charm that bordered on theatrical. And then — of course — his gaze found Est.
The smirk appeared instantly.
Earn leaned close and whispered, "He's looking at you."
"Unfortunately," Est whispered back.
William's smirk deepened, like he'd heard it.
He made his way across the room — confident, composed, and very much aware of the way everyone watched him. Est forced his attention elsewhere, suddenly fascinated by the floral arrangement in front of him.
But it didn't matter. Within moments, the scent of his cologne — clean, sharp, a little infuriating — reached the table.
"Your Highness," William greeted with a small bow, his voice smooth enough to sell chaos as charm. "Lovely evening, isn't it?"
Est plastered on a diplomatic smile. "It was."
Earn coughed delicately to hide a laugh.
William chuckled, completely unfazed. "Still holding grudges, I see."
"Still seeking attention, I see."
Their eyes met — sharp, bright, electric.
Around them, polite conversation resumed, but the air between them crackled like static.
William grinned. "You look good, by the way."
Est blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Didn't want to waste the compliment."
"I didn't ask for one."
"And yet you're blushing."
"I am not—" Est stopped, realizing his sister was biting her lip to keep from laughing. "Earn."
"Yes?" she asked innocently.
"Trade seats with me."
"Not a chance."
William chuckled, leaning casually against the table. "Relax, Your Highness. I come in peace."
"Doubtful."
"Truce?"
Est hesitated — just long enough for William to add, "For the sake of national stability, of course."
Est exhaled slowly. "Fine. Truce."
William smiled — that kind of smile that promised nothing good would come of it.
And Est had a terrible, sinking feeling that this dinner was only the beginning of something very inconvenient.