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The throne room of Minterhall was always too quiet before JJ arrived.
Simon Minter sat high on his carved stone throne like he had been born into it—back straight, expression calm, fingers resting lightly on the armrest as if the weight of an entire kingdom didn’t exist.
The courtiers stood in careful lines below, pretending not to breathe too loudly.
Then the doors opened.
JJ Olatunji didn’t walk in so much as he announced himself.
Gold-trimmed boots hit the marble with confident rhythm, his cloak swinging dramatically behind him as if the hall itself should adjust to his presence.
He didn’t bow immediately.
Of course he didn’t. JJ rarely did anything immediately if it could be done with more attitude.
Behind him, attendants exchanged quick, nervous glances—waiting for reprimand, for correction, for something.
Simon just sighed.
A small one. Almost bored.
But the corners of his mouth twitched anyway.
“There he is,” Simon said, voice smooth, carrying easily through the hall. “Late again.”
JJ stopped halfway up the central aisle, lifting his chin like he’d just been complimented instead of called out. His grin was immediate, bright, entirely unbothered.
“Late? I call it making an entrance,” JJ said, spreading his arms slightly as if the throne room was his stage.
His eyes flicked up to Simon, and that confidence sharpened into something just a little softer—just for a second.
“You missed me that much already, your highness?”
A few courtiers stiffened at the tone.
Simon didn’t.
Instead, he leaned back slightly in his throne, the picture of lazy authority, and let his gaze linger on JJ in a way that made the room feel like it had narrowed down to just the two of them.
“I had peace and quiet,” Simon said. “It was concerning.”
JJ let out a laugh—sharp, pleased, like he’d won something without even trying.
He continued forward now, steps lighter, less ceremonial, like he’d decided the rules didn’t apply to him the moment Simon looked at him.
“I knew it,” JJ said, tilting his head as he reached the base of the throne steps. “You missed me.”
Simon’s smile grew just a fraction more dangerous.
“Careful.”
JJ only smiled wider, clearly not careful at all.
“I’m always careful,” he lied instantly, then looked up at Simon like he was the only person in the room who mattered.
“So. You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna come down and greet your future husband properly?”
That finally did it—something warm and amused broke through Simon’s controlled exterior.
Not enough for the court to truly notice, but enough for JJ to catch it immediately.
Simon stood.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
“I was enjoying the view from up here,” Simon said as he descended the steps, each movement controlled, regal.
“But if you insist on being unbearable in person, I suppose I should intervene.”
JJ’s eyes lit up at that.
“Unbearable? That’s your favourite part of me.”
Simon stopped one step above him, close enough now that the entire throne room might as well have disappeared.
A beat of silence.
Then Simon’s voice dropped slightly, quieter—meant only for JJ, though everyone pretended not to listen.
“Unfortunately,” Simon said, that familiar cocky edge returning, “you’re not wrong.”
JJ’s grin softened just a little at the edges—just enough to make it real underneath the bravado.
And for a moment, between the cold marble, the watching court, and the weight of two kingdoms, it looked less like politics…
And more like inevitability.
The room didn’t quite know what to do with them.
The throne room of Minterhall, usually so precise and controlled, felt suddenly too small for what was happening at its center.
JJ Olatunji stood at the base of the steps, still wearing that same smug confidence like armor—but it flickered the moment Simon moved.
Simon Minter didn’t announce anything. He didn’t need to.
He simply stepped down from the last stair, closed the distance in a few unhurried strides, and bent slightly as if the rest of the world had become irrelevant.
Then he wrapped his arms around JJ’s hips.
Not ceremonial.
Not formal.
Familiar.
Like it had been done a hundred times before and would be done a hundred more.
The entire hall went silent so fast it was almost audible.
JJ froze for half a heartbeat—just long enough for the courtiers to collectively forget how to breathe.
Then, just as quickly, he melted into it.
His arms slid up and around Simon’s neck, pulling him in with zero hesitation, like the distance between them had always been an inconvenience he was correcting.
His chin dipped near Simon’s shoulder, and the smugness softened into something quieter, warmer—something he only ever let show when Simon was this close.
The crown prince of the other kingdom, bratty and loud and untouchable, suddenly looked… entirely at home.
Simon held him there for a second longer than necessary.
Just a second.
Long enough to make it obvious he could have let go—but chose not to.
Behind them, the courtiers looked like they were actively reconsidering every political alliance they had ever made.
At the far side of the room, Simon’s parents stood rigid near the dais, expressions caught between shock and reluctant acceptance.
His mother blinked slowly, like she was trying to decide whether to interrupt history or simply watch it happen.
On the other side, JJ’s parents had only just entered the throne room.
They stopped dead.
The sight hit them instantly—no warning, no preparation.
Their son, clinging to the prince like he belonged there. Simon holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
A long silence stretched.
Then JJ’s father slowly turned his head toward JJ’s mother as if to confirm he was seeing reality correctly.
“…They’re hugging,” he said carefully.
JJ’s mother didn’t answer right away. Her gaze stayed fixed on the center of the room.
Where Simon had his arms still around JJ’s hips.
Where JJ’s fingers were still curled around Simon’s neck like he had no intention of moving.
Finally, she exhaled.
“They look married already,” she said.
At that exact moment, JJ tilted his head slightly against Simon’s shoulder, just enough for his voice to carry softly—only for him.
“Missed me that much, yeah?” he murmured, teasing again, but not pulling away.
Simon gave a quiet huff of something like a laugh, still holding him.
“Don’t get used to it,” he said.
But he didn’t let go either.
The silence in the throne room somehow managed to get even heavier.
Just when the courtiers thought they had understood the situation—just when they had accepted that the two princes were, apparently, incapable of standing more than a step apart—JJ Olatunji made the mistake of shifting his weight like he might actually let go.
Simon Minter didn’t even hesitate.
One arm tightened around JJ’s waist. The other slid beneath his knees.
And in one smooth, unbothered motion, Simon lifted him clean off the floor.
JJ barely had time to react before he was suddenly elevated, cloak swinging slightly as he let out a surprised sound that immediately turned into a laugh.
“Oi—!” JJ protested, though there was absolutely no real resistance in it.
His hands instinctively gripped Simon’s shoulders.
“Put me down, this is disrespectful!”
Simon adjusted his grip like JJ weighed nothing at all.
“You were being distracting,” Simon said calmly.
“I was standing!”
“You were breathing loudly at me.”
JJ gasped dramatically. “That’s not a crime!”
“It should be,” Simon replied.
And just like that, still carrying him as if it were the most normal thing in the world, Simon turned and walked back up the steps toward his throne.
The entire court watched in stunned, frozen disbelief as their prince carried another prince—future political alliance or not—like it was the most routine part of his day.
At the top, Simon turned slightly, kicked the edge of his cloak back, and sat down on the throne without ever setting JJ down.
JJ landed easily in his lap.
Like he had been placed there on purpose.
Like the throne had been waiting for it.
For a moment, even JJ seemed to pause—eyes flicking around the room, taking in the fact that he was now very much seated on Simon Minter’s lap in the center of a royal court.
Then, of course, his grin returned.
“Oh,” JJ said slowly, leaning back just a little against Simon’s chest. “So this is how it is now?”
Simon rested one arm casually around his waist, the other on the armrest, posture still perfect, expression still composed.
Like nothing unusual was happening at all.
“It’s efficient,” Simon said.
JJ tilted his head up at him. “Efficient?”
“Yes,” Simon replied. “Less walking. Fewer interruptions.”
JJ let out a laugh, immediately relaxing like this was the most natural place in the world for him to be.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
Behind them, someone in the court made a noise that sounded like they were actively losing their understanding of monarchy.
Simon’s parents stood frozen near the dais, watching their son sit on the throne like a king already—except the only thing he was holding onto was JJ.
JJ’s parents, still at the entrance, had gone completely still.
Then JJ shifted slightly in Simon’s lap, getting comfortable like he intended to stay there a while, and looked up at him with that familiar bratty softness in his eyes.
“You gonna do this every time I visit now?” he asked.
Simon glanced down at him.
A pause.
Then, quieter—only for JJ, like always:
“Depends how often you plan on annoying me.”
JJ smiled.
“Daily, then.”
Simon’s mouth twitched.
“…Unfortunate,” he said, tightening his arm just slightly anyway.
The throne room never recovered its silence.
It tried to—courtiers standing straighter, eyes forward, pretending they weren’t watching their prince sit calmly on his throne with another prince in his lap like it was a scheduled diplomatic arrangement.
It wasn’t working.
JJ Olatunji had already decided the world outside Simon’s arms didn’t matter anymore.
He was leaned back comfortably against Simon Minter, legs slightly shifted like he belonged there, talking with the easy rhythm of someone who had forgotten royalty existed.
Simon, meanwhile, looked exactly the same as always.
Composed.
Controlled.
One arm resting around JJ’s waist like it was the most natural thing in the world, the other draped over the armrest of his throne.
Except his eyes kept flicking down to JJ more than they ever bothered to flick anywhere else.
“You’re sitting crooked,” Simon said flatly.
JJ didn’t even look offended. “I’m comfortable.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is to me.”
Simon sighed like he was dealing with a personal disaster, but his grip on JJ didn’t loosen in the slightest.
“You’re going to complain about your back later.”
JJ smiled up at him, smug and soft at the same time.
“Then you’ll fix it.”
A pause.
Simon’s mouth twitched.
“That’s not how backs work.”
“It is if you’re the one fixing it,” JJ said, like it was obvious.
Before Simon could reply, JJ shifted slightly again, leaning more into him on purpose this time, like he was testing how far he could push his luck in front of an entire court.
Simon didn’t stop him.
That was the problem.
Or the tell.
The throne room held its breath again—not because they were scared anymore, but because they were witnessing something far worse for politics:
consistency.
JJ glanced out at the room briefly, finally acknowledging the existence of everyone else.
“They’re still staring.”
“They’ll get over it,” Simon said calmly.
JJ hummed. “You say that like you’ve done this before.”
“I have,” Simon replied without hesitation.
That earned him a laugh from JJ—bright, unbothered.
“With me?”
A beat.
Simon looked down at him properly then, just for a second longer than necessary.
“Unfortunately.”
JJ grinned wider.
“Liar. You love it.”
Simon leaned back slightly, expression still controlled, but his voice dropped just a fraction.
“Don’t push it.”
JJ’s grin softened at the edges, like he heard the real meaning under it.
“Make me.”
That did it—just a flicker in Simon’s eyes. Gone almost instantly, but there.
And then—
“Enough.”
The word cut through the room like a blade.
Both princes turned their heads at once.
Simon’s father stood near the dais, expression tight with royal restraint.
JJ’s parents were beside him, looking equally torn between disbelief and resignation.
“This,” Simon’s father said slowly, gesturing vaguely at the throne, JJ, and everything in between, “is not how court is conducted.”
JJ looked at him, then back at Simon, completely unfazed. “It’s not that bad.”
“It is that bad,” JJ’s mother added immediately.
Simon didn’t move.
Neither did JJ.
Simon just blinked once. “It’s efficient.”
That earned him a look from both parents at once.
JJ, still very much in his lap, leaned slightly into Simon and murmured, “You’re using my excuses now.”
Simon replied evenly, “You’re a bad influence.”
“And yet,” JJ said proudly, “you’re still holding me.”
A silence.
Simon’s arm tightened imperceptibly around JJ’s waist.
His father pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Dinner. Then separate rooms. Now.”
JJ straightened slightly. “Separate rooms?”
“Yes,” both sets of parents said in near-unison.
JJ looked up at Simon, offended on principle. “That feels unnecessary.”
Simon sighed again, the long-suffering kind that somehow still didn’t make him let go.
“Apparently we’re being supervised.”
JJ huffed. “I don’t need supervision.”
“You absolutely do,” Simon replied immediately.
JJ gasped. “Rude.”
Simon finally shifted, adjusting his grip like he was actually going to stand.
JJ immediately tightened his arms around his neck again out of instinct. “Wait.”
Simon paused. “What.”
JJ looked at him for a second, bratty confidence faltering just slightly into something softer. “After dinner?”
Simon’s gaze held his.
“…We’ll see,” he said.
JJ smiled like that was a promise anyway.
And only then did Simon stand—still holding him for half a second longer than necessary before finally setting him down.
But even then, they stayed too close.
Like separation was just another temporary rule they were already planning to ignore.