Walking into the castle, guards and people lock their gazes on me.

Their whispers pinch my ears, reminding me of my mistake.

“That’s Violet, the journalist…”

“I heard it was all a hoax…”

“Dang, she’s gorgeous..”

I roll my eyes at that last comment.

I suddenly feel a tug on my wrist; Prince Holt steers me away into a large room, one I can guess to be a meeting room.

A large table sits in the middle with the king at the far end, looking down upon me with disgust and anger.

“Violt Solup, the journalist who wishes to bring my son to ruin,” the king’s powerful voice rings.

I stiffen.

I bow my head and say quietly, “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

Holt laughs beside me, his eyes lighting up.

I look at the king and see his eyes calculating and observing.

A smirk appears.

“To bring back the prince’s image, Violet, I have come to find some terms you’ll be quick to accept,” the king says.

A deal?

“Please do say,” I ask.

The king stands and paces.

“You will stay in the castle and act as one of my son’s suitors. You and my son will go into public and act as though you wish to marry—“

“Your Majesty,” I start, but the king interrupts,

“I am not finished. You two will act in love and you, Violet, will make Holt likeable and admirable.”

Holt steps before me and argues, “Father, the people love me already.”

“The article has wounded you.”

I clear my throat and ask, “What would I be getting in this…act?”

The king’s face turns grave. “Violet, your article has put you and your loved one in great danger. Many people out there support and love Holt, and you’ve just insulted and offended them. They won’t take this kindly unless you shape this into a joke or a playing card in a game to win the prince’s favor.”

I consider the king’s words and glance at Holt, his piercing blue eyes already on me.

“I accept,” I say.

Holt smiles and grabs me by the hand, “Let’s go make them believe it.”

“Now?” I ask.

He nods as he rushes us to a balcony overlooking hundreds of people.

They all turn their attention to us.

Pretending to not notice them, Holt whispers, “Just play along. It’s only an act, nothing real.”

His hands brush against my cheek.

He holds my gaze and softens his eyes.

He bends down and kisses me with passion and elegance.

I lean in, playing in the act.

This is only an act.

It is not real.

When we break, he turns to face a wide-eyed cheering crowd, but my eyes are still on him.

What if I dont want this to be fake…what if I want Holt for real?