Christopher's POV.
Let it be known: I've been to castles. I've survived fencing tournaments, royal press conferences, gala dinners with kings and queens. I've danced with foreign dignitaries and once even made a Prime Minister laugh.
But nothing—and I mean nothing—tests a man's patience like being dragged around by Mia for post-matriculation photos.
Smile. Click. Smile again. Adjust the robe. Smile like we're madly in love. Pretend she's not muttering threats between her teeth.
I was one more "babe" away from spontaneously combusting. And yet, for all the madness I'd faced, nothing quite prepared me for her. Felicity Paddington.
Wearing her sub-fusc like it was couture. Looking like chaos and calm wrapped into one. Her curls bouncing in the light. Her smile? Completely wrecked me. And the worst part? She had no idea.
I scanned the crowd, eyes dodging every lens, every classmate, searching for the one person I actually wanted to be in photos with.
There she was, Felicity, standing at the far edge of the quad, arms folded, grinning like she'd paid front-row tickets to the comedy show that was my life.
I finally broke free after what had to be the fiftieth photo.
"Duty calls," I told Mia. "My fake girlfriend needs her real fake boyfriend."
She frowned. "What does that even mean?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," I said with a wink, and walked away before she could follow
I made my way to where Felicity stood. Our hands brushed as I reached her. Just that, barely a touch. And yet, something tugged at my chest like a string I hadn't noticed before.
"What?" she asked, raising a perfectly suspicious brow.
"Nothing," I said, trying not to smile. "Just wondering if Oxford's ready for you."
She gave a wicked little grin. "Oxford better hold on to its crown. I came to rule."
"And there I was, thinking I came to study," I teased.
Her smile softened. Her eyes danced, catching the late sun. "You came for me. Don't lie."
"Caught red-handed."
We stood there in the middle of the madness—families, laughter, endless camera flashes—but somehow, it felt like we were in our own little bubble. Something real floated between us. Something messy and funny, and warm, and true.
Without saying much more, we began walking. Past the crowds, past the balloons and flower bouquets, toward the Radcliffe Camera.
By some miracle, the quad had quieted. The tourists were gone, the students had scattered, and the golden dome glowed like something out of a dream. It felt like it belonged to us alone.
The wind tugged gently at our gowns. Bells rang softly in the distance. And Felicity walked beside me like she'd always belonged here, like she was Oxford.
We stopped just in front of the Rad Cam—the iconic spot where every student came to take their "I made it" photo.
But I didn't care about the backdrop. The real masterpiece was standing right in front of me.
"Okay, stand there," I said, adjusting her robe gently. "Now tilt your head just a bit. Perfect."
She posed like she didn't even realise how breathtaking she was.
"Now you," she said, taking the camera from me with a playful smirk. "Let me capture that royal jawline."
I froze. Her words hit me harder than they should've. She didn't know… not yet. Not properly. I forced a crooked smile and struck a pose, but something in my chest tightened. Then she laughed—that laugh.
"You really pulled that off," I said, leaning closer. "Oxford's very own Matriculation Queen."
"I didn't even trip," she said, proud as anything. "Nearly did. But I didn't. That counts as success in my books." She grinned.
"Progress," I replied, stepping closer and taking her hand. "You know what I see?"
We stopped at the foot of the stone steps. Everything around us was glowing—from the sandstone walls to the sky. But she outshone it all. Her eyes found mine. Brown with gold flecks, eyes soft and serious. My heart pounded.
She tilted her head, eyebrow raised. "A girl about to pose for another hundred pictures?"
"No." I shook my head softly. "I see the girl I want beside me. Not just today. Always."
Her breath caught.
"I don't care who's watching," I whispered.
I let the camera drop to my side. "Felicity?"
"Hm?" she turned, slightly breathless from laughing.
I stepped in—close enough to smell her perfume, something light and maddening.
Maybe it was the Oxford air. Maybe it was this place—where students had fallen in love with books, ideas… and sometimes each other. But I didn't hesitate.
I cupped her face. Her lips parted slightly.
"Christopher..."
And then—I kissed her. Not a casual kiss. Not a college crush. Not a maybe-we're-something kiss. This kiss was everything.
It melted time. Weeks of tension. Years of silent wanting. A collision of longing and truth—pure electricity of two people who had been orbiting each other far too long.
Soft at first. Just a whisper. Then she grabbed my lapel and pulled me in deeper. And I swear—time collapsed.
Her hands were in my hair before she realised. Her arms wrapped around me, holding me like I was hers. And in that moment, I was.
She tasted like strawberry gloss and defiance. My world narrowed to her—her mouth, her warmth, the electricity that passed between us like it had always existed.
She was kissing me back like she'd waited her whole life. Like everything I never knew I needed—until her. My heartbeat was all I could hear. Her lips, soft but sure, were overwhelming in the best way. My hands framed her face; my arms circled her waist—anchoring us to a moment that felt like it might set the sky on fire.
I'd kissed Felicity Paddington before. But this wasn't the same girl who hurled witty insults at me or slapping me or insisted I wasn't her type.
This was the girl who knew the secret. The one who held me when the weight of the world crushed my shoulders. The one who never saw the crown—but saw me. I should have told her then. Everything.
Because in that moment, there was nothing royal about me. Nothing calculated or controlled. Just a man—aching to hold onto something real.
I rested my forehead against hers, watching her lashes flutter like she was holding her breath.
I wanted to live inside that kiss. But of course, forever only lasted a few seconds.
We finally pulled apart, breathless. Still close enough to feel the echo of her lips on mine.
Her forehead leaned against mine. Our breaths mingled—warm and shallow in the hush between us.
Students wandered past. Laughter, footsteps, a world still spinning.
But none of it touched me. Because for those few, precious seconds… it was just her. Just us.
Her eyes searched mine like she was seeing something for the very first time. Something unspoken. Something real. And in my chest… something clicked. Like I'd just found the missing piece to a puzzle I didn't even realise was incomplete.
She didn't say a word. Neither did I. We didn't need to. But her eyes? They were screaming—don't let go.
Then she tilted her head slightly, lips still parted, and asked with a soft smile, "What was that for?" Like she already knew the answer… but wanted to hear it anyway.
I couldn't help but grin. "You look gorgeous, babe." It slipped out before I could stop it.
But then reality crashed in, dragging my heart with it. I looked at her—really looked at her—and knew what I had to say next might ruin everything.
"Felicity," I said gently, voice low, "I need to tell you something. You're probably going to hate me for it, but I can't keep lying—"
She blinked, startled. "Okay… What? You're scaring me. And I won't hate you. What are you even saying?"
I took a breath. This was it. I swallowed, the words barely forming. "I'm the one who—"
RING. RING!
We both jumped as her phone exploded with sound between us—blaring like a fire alarm at the worst possible moment.
Felicity fumbled for it, still pink in the cheeks from the kiss. I stood there, caught somewhere between laughing and cursing the bloody timing.
She groaned, yanking it from her coat pocket. "Ugh. Penelope," she muttered. Of course.
She answered, and Penelope's voice exploded through the speaker.
"WHERE ARE YOU, WOMAN?! We're going to the after-party! There's free food, questionable punch, and a disturbing number of single people. Bring that my brother/hot prince of your
or I'm sending search dogs! Let's gooooo!"
I raised a brow.
"Search dogs? Really?"
Felicity rolled her eyes and laughed, mouthing a silent sorry to me.
"Well, duty calls."
She looked at me then, still glowing, still a bit breathless.
"Guess I've been summoned."
I smirked.
"I think I've just been demoted to party escort."
She stepped closer and touched my arm, her fingers lingering "You were saying something?"
I hesitated. My throat was tight. The moment wasn't right anymore.
"Later," I said quietly.
Her eyes narrowed, teasing.
"Promise?"
I leaned in, lips brushing her temple.
"Cross my royal heart."
She turned to go, but then paused. Glanced over her shoulder with a half-smile—soft, unguarded.
And then, barely audible, like a breath against the wind: "I love you."
She turned back, laughing again as Penelope chattered through the phone. The two of them disappeared down the path toward the gates, her voice fading with each step.
And me? I stood there like a complete idiot. Grinning like a schoolboy under the Oxford sun.
Because the words still burned in my chest: I'm the only heir to the throne of England. And I'd just kissed the girl who could ruin absolutely everything. Or save it all. Either way…My heart? Gone. Fully, utterly, stupidly hers. Then I follow her.