Page 8 of Prince Material (The Prince Pact #2)

Something in his tone made me look up. His green eyes were serious now, holding none of their usual mischief. For a moment, I saw past the charming prince exterior to someone who might understand more than I’d given him credit for.

“I don’t know how to find that balance. Or even where to start.”

“You can start by agreeing to explore Worcester with me this weekend.”

I immediately opened my mouth to protest. “I can’t.” When he simply quirked an eyebrow, I cringed. “I have to… study?”

“Do you? Or do you tell yourself you have to because it’s easier?”

Fuck, he was seeing so much more than I thought… than I liked. “I don’t know.”

“What do you want to do once you have your master’s?”

“Find a job as a civil engineer and get the experience I need to ultimately help my city or other areas that are in danger zones for extreme flooding.”

“And then?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“When will you have time to make friends? To date or hook up? To find someone you want to share your life with?”

The question caught me off guard. “Dating isn’t really a priority right now.”

“Because you’re focusing on your studies, or because you’re afraid?”

“I’m not afraid,” I said automatically, but the words felt hollow even to me. “I don’t have time for distractions.”

“Is that what relationships are to you? Distractions?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “Look, not everyone needs to date in college. Some of us have more important things to focus on.”

“Like saving the world through perfect engineering?” His tone was gentle, taking any sting out of the words. “You know, it’s possible to do both. To work toward your goals and still have a personal life.”

“Maybe for some people.” I started gathering my things, suddenly needing to escape this conversation. “But I can’t afford to lose focus. Not when…”

I stopped myself, but Floris leaned forward, his eyes intent on my face. “Not when what?”

“Nothing.” I shoved my laptop into my bag with more force than necessary. “Thanks for the help with the project plan.”

“Orson.” His hand caught my wrist, stopping my frantic packing. His touch was warm, sending an unexpected shiver up my arm.

“What?”

“If you googled me, you know I’m gay. Openly gay. ”

What did that have to do with anything? “Yes.”

“All I’m saying is that you can talk to me. I’m a safe space.”

It took me a few seconds to work out what he meant. “I’m not in the closet. I mean, I’m gay, but I’m out. Well, to those that need to know, anyway, like my mom and my sister.”

His brows furrowed. “But you’re not out on campus?”

I shifted in my seat, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not a secret or something. I just don’t date. Or…” I swallowed, “…hook up.”

“Why not?” His voice was soft, understanding.

God, where did I even begin with explaining that? I started packing up again, needing to move, to do something with my hands. “I can’t…”

“Can’t what? Live?”

His words stopped me cold.

“Because that’s what you’re doing, you know. Not living. You’re merely existing.”

The truth in his words hit like a physical blow. “You don’t understand.”

“Don’t I?” Something flickered across his face—pain, maybe, or regret. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong choice? To feel like every decision could have catastrophic consequences?”

I stared at him, really seeing him, beyond the charming smile and easy grace. He was someone who understood more than I’d realized. A man who carried his own weight of expectations and fears. “That video,” I said slowly. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To escape?”

The grainy video had been easy to find once I’d googled him.

Floris pressed against some guy outside a London club, their faces close.

The headlines had screamed about assault, about the Dutch prince forcing himself on someone.

But watching it, something hadn’t added up.

The way the other guy’s hands had gripped Floris’s shirt, pulling him closer rather than pushing away.

How the clip cut off right as the other man leaned in.

The editing had been deliberate, manipulative.

And Floris’s silence afterward, refusing to defend himself despite the media frenzy, spoke volumes about his character.

Floris’s expression shuttered so fast, it was like watching a door slam. “That’s not—” He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”

“Because you couldn’t defend yourself without outing someone else.” The words came out before I could stop them. When his head snapped up, I added quickly, “I did more research. Found some Dutch articles that seemed more balanced than the British tabloids.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his fingers tracing patterns on the wooden table. “You know what the worst part was?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Everyone assumed I’d done something wrong. That I’d forced myself on him. And I couldn’t say anything without making it worse for him.”

The pain in his voice made my chest tight. “That must’ve been hard.”

“Yeah.” He gave a hollow laugh. “But hey, at least it taught me a valuable lesson about trust and public spaces.” His smile was bitter. “And about how quickly people will believe the worst of you.”

I knew something about that, about having people make assumptions, about carrying the weight of others’ expectations and judgments. Though in my case, it was more about living up to my father’s sacrifice, proving I was worth saving.

“Is that why you’re so careful here? Why you don’t want people to know who you are?”

“Partly.” He shrugged, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. “I want one year where I can mess up without it making international headlines. Where I can be me. Without the crown, without the expectations. Without having to be perfect all the time.”

The longing in his voice resonated with something deep inside me.

How many times had I wished for the same thing?

To be free of the guilt, the pressure, the constant need to prove myself?

“I get it. Not the royal part, obviously. But the pressure to be perfect? The fear of messing up? Yeah, I get that.”

Our eyes met across the table, and I saw recognition there, a shared understanding that went beyond words. Here was someone else who knew what it was like to live under the weight of expectations, albeit for very different reasons.

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?” His smile was softer now, more genuine.

“I’m not—” I started to protest, but he cut me off with a look.

He leaned forward, those green eyes intense. “So here’s what we’re going to do. This weekend, we’re going to explore Worcester. No studying, no responsibilities. Two guys checking out their new city.”

“It’s not new to me.”

“It is if you’ve never made the effort to do some sightseeing.”

“I can’t?—”

“You can. The world won’t end if you take one day off.” His voice softened. “Trust me, I’m something of an expert on balancing duty and personal life. Or at least, I’m learning to be.”

I should say no. I had reading to do, problems to solve, a perfect GPA to maintain. But something in his expression made me hesitate. Maybe he was right. Maybe I did need to learn how to live a little.

I took a deep breath. “Okay.”